


We're In This Together

by Padria95



Series: No One Left Behind [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Awesome Leia Organa, Cassian Hurt, Cassian is Awesome, Don't Mess With Jyn, Don't Mess With Leia, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jyn Hurt, Mild Description Of Injury, Or Jyn, Papa Bear Baze, Protective Baze, Protective Cassian Andor, Some Fluff, Tagging as I go..., Team Bonding, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padria95/pseuds/Padria95
Summary: The Empire still looms over their heads, but Jyn can't help thinking that she can't really remember a time when she felt happier. Friends surround her, mission after mission with the Rebellion is successful, and she and Cassian are both lowering their walls to let each other in.But then things take a turn for the worse. A mission goes poorly, an Alliance base gets destroyed, and then the unthinkable happens: Cassian doesn't make the check in time during a mission. Jyn knows there's only one reason he'd miss a check in and it fills her with dread. He's M.I.A., but when Rogue One proposes a mission to go after him, the Council orders them to stand down... as if that's going to stop them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are again! The promised sequel to Don't Leave Me Now is finally here! This is going to be many chapters long--I don't know exactly how many yet, but a lot. Updates will not be as fast as they were for Don't Leave Me Now, unfortunately--what can I say... life--but I hope to keep it weekly or bi-weekly. 
> 
> Not all tags happen in the first chapter. 
> 
> Once again this will focus on Jyn and Cassian, but everyone else will be here too, in some capacity. With so many fantastic characters, it's hard to include them all! Leia and Han play large roles, (and maybe Luke? Not sure about him...), as well as K2, Baze and Chirrut. Bodhi is in it as well, but since I gave him a larger role in the previous installment, I wanted to give Baze and Chirrut a little more love, which means Bodhi's role is a lot smaller. 
> 
> As always, feedback and ideas are welcome. Hope you enjoy!

The first few months on Hoth after K2 returned were the best Jyn can remember. Up until then, she didn’t have many happy memories, rarely had moments to laugh or smile in a life that was always built only upon survival, but all of that changed once she joined the Alliance. In the first few months, she grinned at Chirrut and Baze’s bickering, cheered whenever Bodhi mastered a new ship’s controls and performed breathtaking feats with them, and laughed at K2’s ever present sarcasm and pessimism. So even though the Empire still loomed over all of their heads—an ever present threat—things never seemed so bad when she had her friends by her side.  

 

But of course, she’d be lying to herself if she denied the fact that the major reason for her happiness was Cassian. Her heart fluttered whenever their eyes met, when he let a smile slip onto his face just for her, when he held her at night and woke her from her nightmares with soft murmurs in her ear.

 

As the weeks passed, she watched his walls slowly lower to let her in, but not only that, his entire countenance softened slightly from a hardened soldier with guilt and responsibility weighing on him, to a more relaxed and—dare she say it—happy attitude. She would have liked to take all of the credit—Leia certainly gave it to her—but she knew there was more to it.

 

Even now, eight months later, Cassian’s past is the one topic that is still off limits in their relationship. She knows very little of the twenty years he’s fought against the Empire. Cassian has never told her about the missions he ran for the Rebellion before Jeddha, but she has gotten various hints here and there from his reactions to things she says, the things he carefully _doesn’t_ say, and the things others have let slip. From all of those tidbits, she’s pieced together a very rough picture and it’s not pretty. She knows he’s done things he deems terrible and probably even things she would consider terrible. But she can’t judge him because he’s always done them for a reason greater than himself and _she’s_ done horrific things for no other reason than to survive.

 

So she knows that the primary cause for Cassian’s good mood in the first several months was the fact that the Council only sent him on recruiting missions. The Alliance had lost many rebels in the battles of Scarif and the Death Star, and they needed to fill the ranks as quickly as they could. Cassian had done a lot of recruiting for the Rebellion in the past—that was one thing he _had_ shared with her—and was good at it. The Council therefore solved two problems by assigning Cassian to recruitment: they received a ton of passionate new rebels and in turn they gave Cassian time to fully heal. While he had mostly healed just a few weeks after the confrontation with Lorat, Ienvich and Baro, he still felt lingering effects for several months after, which Leia was aware of and made sure the Council knew, too.

 

Cassian enjoyed recruiting, he’d confided in Jyn once, a soft smile on his face. He told her that he never tried to paint the Rebellion as anything other than what it is, he didn’t let the people he recruits go in thinking that they were joining a cause that will bring them glory and fame. He made sure they understood the danger and difficulty of it, but of course, he let his passion for the Rebellion bleed out into his voice. And he always selected the people he targeted for recruitment very carefully. Pretty much no one said no because of his thorough screening process. He only approached those he knew would say yes and who would be a suitable fit.

 

Once Jyn got cleared to fly missions and was promoted to Corporal in Intelligence, she had the pleasure of accompanying Cassian on a few of his recruitment missions. She mostly sat and listened as he spoke of the need to stand up for what is right and protect those who cannot protect themselves, and she knew if she were not already a member of the Rebellion, she’d be clamoring to join after listening to his speeches.

 

Life was good. Cassian teased her and she teased him back, they sparred with Chirrut and Baze (who both always won) and began to force Bodhi to join them, stating that, since he was a rebel he needed to be able to defend himself. He joined them reluctantly at first, but soon found himself enjoying it.

 

But there was a definable day that things changed. A single mission that marked the turning point, the last time she can remember that Cassian fully smiled at her, without holding anything back, without a flicker of anguish or darkness clouding his face…

 

*

 

(Five months ago).

 

Jyn stands in the cockpit of the shuttle, clutching the co-pilot’s seat in order to stay on her feet and peer over K2’s shoulder at the approaching ground of Ord Mantell.

 

Bodhi sits in the pilot’s seat, brow furrowed in concentration as he skillfully maneuvers the ship to land in a steep sided valley in order to conceal their presence in one of the planet’s numerous mountain chains.

 

A hand clasps her shoulder and she turns slightly in order to meet Cassian’s focused gaze. “Are you ready?” he queries quietly.

 

She nods. “As I’ll ever be.” On the inside, she’s nervous as hell, but she doesn’t let that affect her exterior calm.

 

He gives her a small reassuring smile then turns towards the loading door. “Open her up, Bodhi!” he calls to the pilot. “If we’re not back in less than four hours, get this ship in the air and don’t look back!”

 

Bodhi gives them a mutinous look but says nothing.

 

Cassian narrows his eyes. “Kay, please keep him honest,” he instructs the droid. “Start your timer now.”

 

The droid turns to look at the pair exiting the ship. “Would you like to know your odds of making it back in that time frame? I haven’t shared them with you because you asked me never to share statistics if they are in the highly unfavorable range.”

 

Cassian rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Kay, for telling me we’re doomed to fail!” he shouts back. “You be careful, too!” he calls, knowing that it was just his friend’s way of sharing his concern.

 

The door closes behind them. They have three hours, fifty-nine minutes and eighteen seconds to trek to a hidden Black Sun station, sneak in once the majority of the guards leave due to a disturbance on the other side of the mountains (courtesy of Chirrut and Baze and a handful of other rebels), locate the people being prepared for transport as a slave shipment (including several captured rebels), and make it back to the shuttle with all of them. All in a day’s work.

 

She and Cassian trek in companionable silence. Partly from necessity—so they are not detected—and partly because they are comfortable enough with each other that they don’t feel the need to fill silences with unnecessary, useless conversation.

 

They make it on time and hunker down just a few hundred yards from the base. At this stage they can’t use radios to communicate, as the Black Sun has monitors and will pick it up, so they have to rely on preset timing. Forty minutes to make the trek, two minutes of slush time, and then Chirrut and Baze will strike.

 

Three minutes later, a commotion rises from the exterior part of the camp—the part not sequestered inside the mountain—and people scurry to load in ships and launch.

 

Cassian and Jyn move forward two minutes later, opening the side entrance that Cassian’s contact—a Black Sun operative that he turned to the Alliance—had assured him would be open and would provide a clear path to the holding cells, once the guards left to attend to the distraction. The operative couldn’t guarantee how long it would remain clear, however, so they have to be fast.

 

They slip inside the dark tunnel and move rapidly forward through the twisting passageways. Cassian had obtained a map from his operative and had memorized it, forcing Jyn to as well. She’d done her best but had only been able to memorize the optimal route to and from the prisons. She has no idea how Cassian managed to memorize the whole thing. Especially when they’d only had a few hours to prepare.

 

The halls are surprisingly quiet, the echoes of their own footsteps the only noise that disturbs the air. _Chirrut and Baze must have made a magnificent distraction,_ Jyn thinks proudly. The light is dim and it’s difficult to distinguish Cassian’s dark form leading the way from the shadows of the cave. She smiles to herself, thinking it fitting: Cassian has always had a fondness for shadows and incredible skill to disappear into them.

 

He stops suddenly and she’s following so closely that she almost collides with him. She places a hand on his back in order to prevent that. As he moves to a door practically invisible in the dark—and really, how did he see that?—she turns her back to him in order to watch the hall. She breathes deeply, trying to settle her nerves, a voice in her head whispering _something’s wrong._ She silences it.

 

The door opens behind her and she feels his presence move away, taking with him the small comfort she’d felt from having him at her back. _Stop this, you’re being ridiculous,_ she scolds herself as the uneasy feeling grows.

 

There’s a muffled shout from someone in the room and it takes all of her self-control not to turn and rush in to help subdue whatever Black Sun extremist is in there. She doesn’t move. She trusts Cassian to handle it, and moments later her trust is rewarded when everything goes silent.

 

She stays just inside the doorway as planned while Cassian goes farther into the prison, releasing people. She feels a small crowd gather at her back, the weight of their anxiety and hope giving them away, not the noise they make—they are remarkably silent, for which she’s thankful. The air thickens with tension and causes her to start sweating, which does nothing to alleviate her worry.

 

She’s so hyped up that she flinches when a hand brushes her back, until Cassian slips into her peripheral vision, a concerned look on his face. He can tell something’s wrong. “Are you okay?” he breathes, voice almost soundless.

 

She glances at him, furious with herself for causing him worry and distraction for no apparent reason. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this…” she admits in a whisper, before shaking herself. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

 

His frown deepens. “Don’t say that. You wouldn’t feel that way without a reason.” Apparently he has more confidence in her than she does. “Keep your eyes sharp, we’re almost out of this.” He turns back to the room and motions everyone forwards toward the door. “Stay together, stay quiet and follow Jyn,” he instructs quietly, gesturing to Jyn. He taps her on the back. “Lead on.”

 

She nods, stepping forward carefully and silently, moving into the empty space of the shadowed hallway. Thirty people step out to follow her, their footsteps whispers of hope on the stone floor, each step leading them closer to freedom. She rounds a corner, then another… then another… and suddenly her instincts go crazy. They scream and she twists sideways just as blaster fire lights up the hall in brilliant red, turning what would have been a deathly blow tearing directly through her midsection into a shot that sears across her stomach.

 

She can’t stop her cry of pain and surprise from passing her lips— _Should have trusted your instincts, Jyn,_ her mind hisses _—_ but she doesn’t let herself dwell on it. Even as the burn sears across her stomach, she raises her arm and returns fire. Her aim is true. The Black Sun member crumples to the ground, dead before impact. The light from her shot illuminates a second man and he, too, falls to the ground when she hits him.

 

Jyn immediately backpedals, pushing people behind her backwards and away from the corner as more blaster fire comes from the corridor they’d just tried to walk down. Her torso is on fire but she ignores it—the safety of these people is more important than a mere graze… though, if she’s honest with herself, she thinks it’s a little more serious than “a mere graze.”

 

Four figures leap forward from beside her, each with a blaster in hand— _the four captured rebels,_ she thinks distantly—and they lay down suppressing fire, giving her and everyone else time to withdraw. Suddenly Cassian is at her side, clasping her elbow and demanding to know if she’s okay. She nods quickly—no point in telling him otherwise now, there’s nothing he can do about it—and the fleeting look of relief that flashes across his face both relieves her and makes her feel guilty.

 

He turns his attention to their now blocked escape route. “We’ll have to go a different way,” he growls in frustration, before rushing to the rebels currently guarding their retreat in order to communicate something to them.

  
Jyn takes the opportunity to briefly assess her wound. She lowers her hand and presses tentatively against her stomach. She gasps as her vision goes white and she nearly loses her footing. She braces her other hand against the wall and fights to compose herself. When she pulls her hand away from her stomach, it comes back sticky with blood. She’s not gushing, but she can tell that in twenty minutes or so, she’s not going to be in a good way… and it will be at least thirty minutes until they’re back to the shuttle if they go twice as fast as their pace on the way out. _Kriff._

 

Cassian appears at her shoulder and she quickly drops her hand out of sight before he can see it. He has enough to worry about right now.

 

“Okay,” he calls, his voice calm and cool, “everyone stay together and follow me. Stealth is no longer a priority: speed is. Avax and his men will cover our retreat and once we reach ground level, head east along the ridgeline and do _not_ stop. I will catch up with you once I’ve made sure we can’t be followed.”

 

He moves forward immediately at a light jog—most of these people are malnourished and cannot go faster. Jyn doesn’t attempt to keep pace with him, but allows herself to be swept along in the middle of the crowd. Part of her appreciates the fact that he hadn’t grabbed on to her and made sure she stayed with him, because it meant that he trusted her absolutely and knew she could take care of herself. The other part of her, the part dealing with the pain, wishes he had. _That’s what you get for always insisting on independence. He’s listened to you, you can only be happy! It’s not his fault that you got shot and would like some pampering right now._

Soon, Jyn’s dropped back to the tail end of the group, just a few meters in front of the four rebels still guarding their retreat. The explosions of blaster fire do nothing to urge her tired body forwards. She hears Cassian shout “Avax, now’s the time!” and wonders what he means, until she sees the squad of four halt at the corner they’d just rounded and settle in. _Oh, we must be near the exit._ She tries to keep going, tries to follow the last figure who disappears around a corner, but she can’t. The front of her uniform is cold against her skin and a distant part of her recognizes that’s because it’s wet. And not with water. Her right foot steps forward and collapses under the weight of her exhaustion. _I’m in better shape than this, this is ridiculous!_ she admonishes herself. But of course, her fatigue has nothing to do with tired muscles and everything to do with blood loss.

 

“Two minutes!” Cassian voice shouts again and it seems far away from Jyn. He must be at the tunnel exit and she wonders what he’s doing, until she remembers him tucking charges into his jacket pocket on the shuttle and his comment just a little earlier saying he’d make sure they weren’t followed. She puts two and two together. _He’s going to blow the exit._ It’s not the cave system’s only exit, not by any means, but it will certainly slow down their pursuers as the Black Sun will have to backtrack and use a different one. It might give the newly freed people just enough time to get to the shuttle.

 

She realizes then, as she slumps against the cave wall, that Cassian hasn’t noticed that she didn’t make it out with the rest of the prisoners. It’s so unlike him not to catch everything, but she forgives him completely. It’s not his responsibility to watch out for her—she’s repeatedly told him explicitly to the contrary—and he has thirty other people he’s trying to save. She refuses to burden him with the guilt of her death, however, so she grits her teeth and begins crawling forward on her hand and knees, one hand clutching at her stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

 

She hears running footsteps and thinks it’s Avax and his squad finally sounding the full retreat. Her brain rapidly comes up with two options. One, the four of them and her are all about to die because they’ll stop and try to help her once they see her—she curses her weakness—and be blown to bits. Two, she’ll manage to shout at them to go on without her and, if by some miracle they listen, they will live and she will die. She doesn’t relish the thought of dying, particularly because she _knows_ Cassian will blame himself, but she can’t see another option.

 

But of course, she hadn’t considered what would happen if the footsteps weren’t Avax’s, but Cassian’s. Because _of course_ Cassian had noticed her absence—she laughs at herself now, thinking he hadn’t—and _of course_ he’d come back for her, like he always does.

 

He slides to his knees beside her and she manages to look up from where her gaze had been fixed on the floor as she took one crawling shuffle at a time. His eyes are wide and his face has lost his calm, but he smiles at her reassuringly, reaching out to cup her face with his hand. “What, did you think I would leave you?” he demands quietly upon seeing her surprised face.

 

“You should have. Just go,” she mutters, pushing at him in a futile effort. She can’t walk on her own, let alone run. She’ll only slow him down and she’ll be damned if she’s the reason he gets caught or killed.

 

He ignores her, swatting her hand away and pushing her back against the wall she’d been leaning against moments before—apparently she’d only made it one crawl away… huh, it had seemed farther. His eyes darken as he sees her bloody uniform, but he doesn’t stop his movements. He slips his blaster into her right hand and something else into her left, then slips one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Then he rises to a standing position, bringing her with him, cradled in his arms. The position puts painful pressure on her wound, but she bites back her cry of discomfort.

 

She wraps her left arm around his neck in an effort to help and rests her right hand on her knees. She’s not sure she’ll actually be able to use the blaster—whether her arms will have enough strength to—but she’ll damned well try.

 

He yells at Avax and his crew to get a move on and she hears the four men’s footsteps pound behind her, the blaster fire drawing ever closer as Cassian runs for the exit, murmuring in her ear, “I told you, Jyn: no one left behind. Not on my watch.”

 

A tiny taste of fresh air kisses her cheek as they round the final corner and the light of day explodes into the hallway from the exit that’s only fifteen yards away. She clutches onto him tighter, willing them to make it through and for no enemies to be waiting on the other side. _Dear Force, please._

 

But of course, luck has not been on their side today. So when they clear the exit, bursting into the blinding light of Ord Mantell’s sun, Jyn’s eyes are immediately drawn to a figure rounding a boulder, the telltale glint of a blaster leveling at the pair of them. Jyn takes aim and fires in the same heartbeat. The woman falls. Cassian doesn’t even break stride, his trust in her ability to keep them safe even while wounded is absolute. He keeps running, until a few moments later he demands breathlessly, “Are they clear?”

 

She can see over his shoulder easily and watches as Avax and the three others race from the tunnels, diving for cover as blaster fire follows them. “They’re clear,” she croaks.

 

“Then light it up.”

 

She’s confused for a moment, until her left hand feels the weight of the device he’d thrust into it before picking her up. She squeezes the button beneath her thumb without hesitation. There’s a second of delay, before the entire tunnel explodes in a spray of dust and rubble, collapsing with a massive groan. She can’t help but grin at the small victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's installment two! Took me a little longer than I would have liked to get it posted... alas! My apologies. Ideally I am shooting for bi-weekly updates. In reality, it will probably be more like tri-weekly.

As the dust clears, she sees Avax and his men rise from their shelter and begin sprinting after her and Cassian. She closes her eyes, then, and rests her head against his shoulder. The jolting of his run keeps her from falling asleep, as each step sends fire shooting through her, but she’s too exhausted to hold her head up anymore.

 

His arms tighten around her in response and he orders fiercely, “Stay with me, Jyn.”

 

Ever so slightly she squeezes her arm wrapped around his neck to let him know she’s still there.

 

A few minutes later, they come to a stop and she manages to force her eyes open in time to see him kneel down and place her on the ground leaning against a cliff face. For a moment she panics, seeing the front of his shirt stained with blood, until she realizes it’s _her_ blood. Not his. Avax and the other three rebels reach them and immediately take up guard positions. Cassian breathes heavily but his movements are careful and controlled—if fast—as he slips the jacket from his shoulders. “You should have told me you were hurt,” he scolds, but there’s no bite to his words.

 

“Probably,” she admits, wincing as he pulls her forward in order to wrap his jacket—the only thing they have that could function as a temporary bandage—around her midsection and pull it tight in a knot behind her back, putting as much pressure as possible on her still bleeding wound.

 

“Definitely,” he asserts vehemently.

 

“Okay. You win,” she allows, too worn out to argue. And besides, he’s right and she knows it.

 

He nods, though clearly unhappy at his victory. He glances at their companions before turning back to her. “I don’t know how long that collapsed tunnel will hold them off, so we have to keep moving and catch up with the group.”

 

She grimaces. “Cassian, I _can’t._ ” It kills her to admit her weakness, but she’s not about to allow her pride be the death of him. “There’s no way I can walk that far—let alone run—and there’s no way you can catch up to them while you’re lugging my weight around.”

 

His eyes harden. “Watch me,” he challenges, before turning away from her, clearly waiting for her to clamber onto his back. It’s the position that makes the most sense, she admits, as over the shoulder would put way too much pressure on her wound and the way he was carrying her earlier was not efficient.

 

_If he’s willing to go to the effort of carrying you,_ she thinks to herself, _then you’re damn well going to go to the effort of getting your butt off the ground._ She musters what energy she has left and climbs to her knees, before wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. He rises to his feet, huffing as he shifts her and slips his hands under her legs for support. Then they’re off.

 

Cassian leads the way at a jog, the four other men following close behind. She buries her face in the back of his neck, biting her lip. She’s sure he can feel the tears slipping down her face because they’re making his neck and shirt damp, but she doesn’t care. She knows he would never judge her… and it _hurts_ dammit!

 

But she welcomes the pain because it’s the only thing keeping her conscious at the moment and she has to stay awake in order to hold on to Cassian, because it goes both ways: no matter how hard he holds on to her, if she doesn’t hold on equally as hard, there’s no hope. Metaphorically and literally.

 

Ten minutes later, she feels him slow to a fast walk and hears murmured voices. She opens her eyes to peer over his shoulder at the struggling group they’ve caught up with. A young boy in the back—so skinny Jyn can see practically every bone in his body—nearly trips and falls, until one of Cassian’s arms lets go of Jyn and he shoots his hand out to pull the boy upright. The boy’s face shines in gratitude, until Jyn can no longer see him when Avax steps in and takes over supporting the child so that Cassian’s hand can return to Jyn.

 

She rests her forehead on his shoulder again and focuses on breathing. _That’s it, Jyn,_ she counsels herself. _Just breathe. You’re almost to the shuttle, you can’t stop now._ The makeshift bandage of Cassian’s jacket has bled through, soaking into the fabric of Cassian’s back, almost as if he’s the one injured. _I’m glad he’s not._ As tough as she likes to consider herself, she doesn’t think she could handle another instance like the shuttle ride home from Scarif.

 

Cassian shakes her slightly, hissing, “Jyn! Stay awake! We’re not out of here yet. I need your eyes on lookout!”

 

She struggles to raise her head and turn it to the side, scanning their left. _Bastard,_ she thinks, without conviction. She knows exactly what he’s doing: making her responsible for more than just herself, for all of them, in order to keep her awake. It’s a devious and genius move because it works. She won’t leave him with his back vulnerable. No matter how much she’d like to be mad at him, she can’t because if their roles were reversed, it’s exactly what she would do.

 

Aloud, she mutters, “Jerk.”

 

She sees the barest hint of a smile curl the corner of his mouth as he turns his head. “If it keeps you awake, I’ll play whatever role I have to.”

 

“Just don’t get too comfortable with it,” she grumbles.

 

Five minutes later and the shuttle comes into view. The loading door opens—Bodhi or Kay must have seen their approach—and the freed captives stream onboard with murmurs of exhaustion and exclamations of joy. Cassian and she are the last to board, the door closing behind them.

 

“Bodhi, get us out of here before we have company!” he yells to the cockpit, before kneeling and gently shifting Jyn onto the floor, leaning her against the shuttle wall. His dark eyes meet hers and he holds up a finger to her, ordering “Stay,” before he gets up and disappears into the throng of people.

 

She snorts and immediately wishes she hadn’t when her stomach cringes. _As if I’m going to go anywhere._ But even as she says that, she feels the ship lift off and energy suddenly surges through her, when a moment before she’d been ready to slip unconscious. She blinks in surprise and sits a little taller, taking in the scene of people gradually realizing they are free. There are tears of joy, blank faces of people who haven’t let it sink in yet, bone deep exhaustion… and more.

 

She glances down at her sodden front and raises a hand to prod at it, but suddenly Cassian is there, slapping it away.

 

“Don’t touch that,” he scolds, kneeling beside her once again, med kit in hand.

 

“I’m fine,” she insists, gesturing to her no longer slumped frame and brighter eyes.

 

He shakes his head and doesn’t dignify that with a response—and okay, maybe she isn’t fine, but he’s being ridiculous.

 

She shifts to get her hands under her with the—possibly stupid—idea of getting to her feet.

 

“Hey, hey!” he exclaims, putting his hands on her shoulders and forcing her back down. “Don’t be an idiot! Moments ago you almost passed out on me!” he exclaims vehemently, accent thick. “I’m not about to let your damn pride be the death of you! You’re just feeling the adrenaline of successfully escaping. In a little bit, that’s going to fade and you’re going to crash,” he informs her seriously, ripping open various medical supplies. He glances up from his work for a moment to make eye contact with her. “Trust me. I know.”

 

_I bet he does._ He’s the veteran when it comes to the two of them. Not that she’s inexperienced—not by a long shot—but the fact of the matter is that he’s four years older than she and has therefore had that much more time to gain knowledge, skill and more—plus he’s been in the Rebellion a heck of a lot longer.

 

Dropping his gaze from hers, he directs his attention to her midsection. “Now, this is going to hurt… probably a lot,” he admits. “But I’ll get it over with as fast as I can,” he promises apologetically.

 

She nods in understanding, already moving to bite her lip, but his hand to her chin stops her.

 

“Don’t do that,” he says softly. “You’ll bite it clean through.”

 

She corrects her position to merely grind her teeth together as he begins untying the makeshift bandage and peeling it away from her skin. She closes her eyes and inhales sharply, clamping down on the urge to scream. Cassian doesn’t need any reason to add to his worry and guilt.

 

Moments later, she feels some sort of liquid wash across her exposed wound—no doubt cleaning it—but it immediately turns to _fire_. And she can’t keep a pained growl from escaping her mouth. Cassian murmurs apologies and then she feels solid pressure, then nothing.

 

She opens her eyes to Cassian sitting back on his heels, wiping perspiration from his eyes. Glancing down, she spies a patch covering her wound.

 

“It’s deeper than I would like. Don’t move,” he orders her for the second time, “I need to check in with Bodhi. You had better be here when I get back,” he states earnestly and she knows he doesn’t just mean physically.

 

She raises a shaky hand in a salute. “Yes sir, Captain.”

 

He smirks and rises, moving away toward the cockpit.

 

She leans her head back against the wall, the adrenaline from their successful escape finally leaving her and the exhaustion from earlier setting in, just as Cassian had promised. The people in the shuttle hangar give her plenty of space and ignore her for the most part, for which she’s grateful.

 

She’s drifting off despite her best efforts not to, when something cold pokes her forehead. She jerks back, a frown on her face before she even opens her eyes to see who poked her: Kay.

 

The droid leans over her, head cocked to the side and shoulders hunched, something she’s come to understand means he’s concerned.

 

“There you are, Jyn. I think it best if you do not fall asleep and I am glad that I arrived in time to assist you.”

 

“Much appreciated, K2,” she thanks him sarcastically.

 

“Of course! A poke is easy to provide and I took no insignificant amount of pleasure in being able to poke you without fearing retaliation,” he tells her and she could swear there’s a note of smugness in his voice.

 

When she remains silent—she doesn’t have the energy to do anything else—he continues, “Cassian came up front and initially I was concerned that he had been injured and wasn’t telling anyone in that typical way of his, until he informed me that it was your blood, not his. As he was occupied with extracting us from this crime ridden system, I took it upon myself to come back here and ensure that you are all right. Would you like to know the results of my analysis?”

 

She knows he’ll tell her even if she says no, so she flaps her hand in a vague way, which he interprets to mean “yes.”

 

“Well you’re heart rate is elevated, your blood pressure is low and you’re exhibiting the first signs of mild shock,” he informs her bluntly. “I estimate that you’ve lost approximately twenty-three percent of your body’s blood supply, which is most concerning but less so now that the bleeding has been arrested. As long as no other complications arise, you should be fine and back to ‘kicking Imperial asses’—as you so eloquently put it—in no time.” He pats her knee awkwardly, but she knows it all means he cares.

 

“Thanks, K2,” she murmurs, closing her eyes.

  
There’s a moment of silence and then she hears him move and suddenly feels him sit down beside her. “I’ll stay with you until Cassian comes back,” he informs her. “Because he’ll be happier if I do,” he adds, as if needing to make sure she doesn’t think he’s not doing it for _her_ sake _._

 

She smiles. Her and K2’s relationship has developed slowly since his reboot. Without his memory of the hectic, intense, life-and-death experience of everything from Jedha to Scarif, he began rather skeptical of her despite the fact that she made every effort to be friendly with him. Because _she_ still remembered everything leading up to Scarif.

 

He made it clear from the start that he was only humoring and tolerating her for Cassian’s sake and he was very wary of her. Now, they’ve made progress and he’s starting to soften some and choose to interact with her beyond when he feels obligated to because of Cassian.

 

He doesn’t say anything more, just sits in silent solidarity. As the ship’s metal hums beneath her and the quiet murmurs of the people they freed lull her, she finds herself falling asleep, and nothing—not even K2’s incessant poking—can stop her.

 

Sometime later, she wakes partially, just enough to feel the sensation of someone running their hand through her hair, her head resting in their lap. It takes her only a moment to identify the hand and voice as Cassian’s—the callouses and accent giving him away—and she drifts back asleep content in the knowledge that she’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! They made it!  
> Next chapter will have Baze in it, per the request of one of my readers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, this took me much longer than I anticipated and a lot longer than I wanted it to... this appears to be a chronic problem of mine and I apologize for the delay! Now that summer is here, I hope to actually return to updating this story regularly! And my plan at this point is every other week, with a few deviations, and so far I am thoroughly enjoying re-immersing myself in this fantastic universe with these amazing characters.
> 
> Thank you for your kind comments and patience! I'm so glad you all enjoyed K2 and Jyn's bonding. As many of you pointed out, with his memory reset he would have no reason to distrust/dislike Jyn, beyond the fact that I interpret that his natural character isn't easily trusting and that it takes a lot for him to like someone (and he certainly doesn't show or admit that he trusts/likes someone if at all avoidable!). Therefore it's been a slow road for them, but they are getting there!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this short installment as a nice breath of fresh air (for the most part) with a bit of bonding between Baze and Jyn.

The next time she awakens is much less pleasant. The pain in her stomach rages and the clamoring noise in the air hurts her head. People shout and metal clatters, and she wishes it would all just stop. She frowns in consternation and pain, trying to force her eyelids open. They refuse. Just when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, just when she’s about to go insane, a voice shouts “EVERYONE QUIET!” The momentary increase in volume sears through her brain as the person orders everyone silent, causing her to flinch, but the subsequent hush makes it all worth it.

 

“Thank you, Andor, for that overly dramatic—though admittedly effective—use of your melodious voice,” Vorin Yevez chuckles in amusement.

 

Hands clasp her face and she knows immediately that they are not Cassian’s; they are calloused, but not from piloting ships, wielding blasters and evading the Empire. No, these callouses are the result of hundreds of hours spent fighting to keep people alive as their blood leaks onto the floor and their bodies try to shut down.

 

“Now Jyn,” Yevez continues, “I understand you are awake and in pain. I promise that will go away in a moment, just as soon as we’ve properly assessed your condition. I’m going to give you a sedative because a bacta tank treatment will be most effective in aiding your recovery.” Her frown deepens—she hates bacta tanks, though she recognizes their utility—which Yevez apparently sees. “Yes, I’m quite aware of your dislike for the medical wonders of the tank, which is why I will make sure you are unaware of your time in it.”

 

Her forehead smooths to convey her appreciation. She and Yevez had not started on the best of terms—she’d been rather ticked off at him for how he’d vetted her to make sure she was a true friend to Cassian—but now every passing month gives her ever increasing reasons to like him more and more. His dry wit and humor never fail to bring a smile to her—and more importantly, to Cassian’s—face and most of all, she appreciates his candor and bluntness when it comes to anything medical. She can’t stand it when people try to coddle her or mince their words, so she appreciates his obvious respect for her and her intelligence, evidenced in the way that he doesn’t hold anything back.

 

Yevez’s hands leave her face, and moments later she feels a prick in her arm and the heavy feeling of the promised sedative starts curling through her veins. Just before she drifts to sleep, Cassian murmurs in her ear, “Everyone’s okay. Baze, Chirrut and their crew made it safely, without casualties. And you are going to be okay, too.” It’s a promise, more than an order, one that he seals with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

 

*

 

For the third time in… well, she’s not sure how long, it seems like only a few hours but in actuality it’s likely been days… for the third time in an undefined number of hours, she awakens to pain. _Honestly, I’m getting rather sick of this,_ part of her thinks crossly. The other part of her points out the fact that she’d willingly signed up for hard work and pain the moment she joined the Rebellion. Not to mention the fact that both of those things had been frequent companions of hers throughout her life with Saw Gerrera.

 

This time—unlike previously—she manages to force her eyes open. The white walls of Echo Base greet her, blinding her for a moment, before her eyes adjust. Blinking, she shifts her gaze to the other occupant in the room.

  
“Welcome back, Little Sister,” Baze rumbles affectionately, a soft smile gracing his weathered face. “You gave my old heart a little more exercise than I would like. If you’re not careful, you’ll age me even more than Chirrut does with his ‘trust in the Force’ ways.”

 

She returns his smile with one of her own, before attempting to return his hello, but the words stick in her dry throat and she coughs, until a large hand reaches behind her shoulders and helps her into a sitting position. Baze’s other hand offers her a cup of water. She takes it gratefully, hands shaky but strong enough to grasp the vessel and drink from it.

 

With her thirst quenched, she leans back against the headboard and lets Baze remove the cup from her hands. “Hello to you, too,” she greets finally. “And thank you for a magnificent distraction; we couldn’t have done it without you. What exactly did you do?” she inquires curiously.

 

The man chuckles. “I’ll let Chirrut tell you. He’s quite proud of himself and would be most displeased if I stole his thunder.”

 

She grins. “Fair enough. I guess I’ll just have to hold onto my curiosity for a little longer. How long was I out?” she asks instead.

 

“You were in the tank for a day and you slept another day away after that. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that Captain Andor did not leave your side throughout the process until I encouraged him to get a few hours rest just thirty minutes ago.”

 

Jyn is not surprised that Cassian stayed with her—she often thinks he is much too good for her—but she is surprised Baze was able to convince him to leave even for a few hours; Cassian’s stubbornness knows no bounds. She raises her eyebrows at the former Guardian, suspecting there’s more to it.

 

Baze withstands her expectant stare for a handful of seconds before he relents and admits, “‘Encouraged’ may be too soft of a word. ‘Compelled’ is probably more accurate. There was definitely physical force involved,” he explains slightly sheepishly. “And I got Vorin Yevez to lock the door and deny Captain Andor access for a few hours,” he adds, a hint of Chirrut-like smugness creeping into his voice.

 

 _Well, he was certainly thorough,_ Jyn thinks in amusement, applauding Baze’s commitment to looking after Cassian when she could not. “Thank you for that,” she says aloud, reaching out to squeeze the man’s hand, her own almost disappearing in his grip.

 

He squeezes back, face growing serious for a moment as he nods in acknowledgement, before placing her hand back on the bed. He hesitates a moment, before asking, “What is the last thing you remember?”

 

She frowns. Given his tone, she gathers that something happened, but searching her memory only leads her to recall waking briefly in both the shuttle and the med bay. “Arriving here, everything being too loud, Cassian telling people to be quiet, then nothing… why?”

 

Baze nods. “That was not the last time you were conscious, but it does not surprise me that you do not recall awakening shortly after moving from the bacta tank to here. You were…” he pauses, searching for the right words, “not yourself.”

 

She thinks hard, desperately trying to grasp at the wisps of memory that his words have conjured. Snippets stitch themselves together, and she recalls, thrashing, screaming, and a feeling of panic gradually fading due to a deep, rumbling voice. “I was caught,” she realizes. “Trapped in a memory from which I couldn’t escape.”

 

Baze grimaces. “It must not have been a pleasant one.”

 

“It wasn’t,” she whispers. The horrors of the experience begin seeping into her bones, chilling her to her core, until a warm hand rests on her shoulder, chasing the cold away. She looks up to meet Baze’s eyes, which soften in concern and understanding. Immediately she knows that he is all too familiar with nightmares, both real and imagined. His gaze and hands show the signs of physical and emotional scars, but he has set those aside for her, to be with her in solidarity and comfort. “Thank you,” she murmurs gratefully.

 

“For what?”

 

 _For being you. For your strength. Your kindness. Your generous soul._ But she cannot say those things aloud, for she knows he would simply shake his head and attribute her words to a non-existent head injury. Instead, she replies, “I remember… I remember your voice. I can’t remember what you said, but it was your calm which helped me through it.”

 

The corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile. “There is no need to thank me. I only did what I could for a dear friend.” He pulls his hand back, taking with it some of the warmth she’d begun to feel. “You should rest more, now,” he comments gently, seeing her eyelids growing heavy.

 

As much as she would like to argue, she knows he’s right. Losing so much blood took a lot out of her and while the bacta treatment helped immensely, she admits she’s nowhere near to being fully healed. That’s the frustrating thing with injuries… they take time. She lets her eyes slip close, murmuring, “You don’t have to stay.”

 

“Of course I don’t,” Baze agrees easily. “But I want to and I will.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Sleep well, Little Sister.”

 

She smiles as she drifts to sleep. With Baze to watch over her, she’ll sleep well. He’s become like a father to her and she doesn’t know what she’d do without him. Of course, he will never replace her real father, but he looks after her—looks after everyone from Rogue One—and makes her feel safe. Her second to last thought is one of wonder: _how can two men, who are so different, work so well together?_ But she thinks that maybe that’s the answer in and of itself: Chirrut is everything Baze isn’t, and Baze is everything Chirrut is not. Where for most this would end any possibility of a relationship, Chirrut and Baze embrace their differences and use them to become a more complete person through their united front. They are two halves of a whole.

 

Her very last thought is one of amusement: _Baze is the wise, protective and caring father figure, and Chirrut is the spirited, mischievous uncle… who is also wise. What a pair._ She loves them both.

 

*

 

(End Flashback)

 

That had been five months ago. At first she’d thought they’d made it out of the mission with only a rapidly healing scar across her stomach, but as quickly as her scar disappeared, a new one appeared. A scar for Cassian. It wasn’t a physical injury—that she could have dealt with—no, it was something much worse. A mental scar that hid from view… that whispered to him beneath the surface where no one else could hear, where no one else could soothe the worry it caused.

 

She didn’t notice it at first, he hid it so well. It started out subtly, beginning with the slow rebuilding of the walls that Cassian had lowered to let her in. They didn’t go up all of the way, he still left them down partially, which is why she thought nothing of it at first. He still laughed and smiled with her, shared time and secrets with her, but less frequently. His smiles were always chased away by darker emotions that flitted across his face so quickly she was never sure they were actually there, and his laughs were cut short by… something, an emotion she couldn’t identify.

 

It took her two months to finally realize that it wasn’t a passing phase, but evidence of a more deeply rooted change. Once she realized what was happening, she quickly recognized that the cause was her injury during their mission on Ord Mantell. At first she was furious, jumping to the conclusion that Cassian now thought her too weak, too incapable of handling herself, someone who needed protection and was therefore not worth his time.

 

But that fury faded quickly when she gave herself the time to truly analyze what she was seeing. And she immediately understood that her initial reaction was wrong. To Cassian’s credit, it wasn’t that he suddenly began treating her like she couldn’t take care of herself. He didn’t start being overbearingly protective or ignoring her. Nor did he do her the disservice of blaming himself for her injury. To do so would have discredited her, because it would have meant he thought her incapable of looking after herself. It would have meant that he did not view them as a team who worked on equal footing, but that he saw himself as above her and responsible for her, in the way that a parent is responsible for their child’s immature behavior. Instead, his respect for her clearly remained unchanged and he didn’t prevent her from participating in dangerous missions, nor did he order her to the sidelines. No, it wasn’t that her injury made her seem weak in his eyes, and it didn’t cause him to fall into the category of so many men who thought women needed protecting—quite the opposite in fact, as he commended her actions and continued to hold her in high regard.

 

It took her a while to figure out what the problem was, but one day it finally clicked. The words he’d uttered after she’d verbally attacked him on Eadu, echoed in her mind: “you’re not the only one who lost everything.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wasn’t just referring to other Rebels, but himself. Combine that knowledge with her first conversations with Yevez, where he made it clear that Cassian didn’t have many friends—not because he was unlikeable, but because he didn’t _want_ to—and it was easy for her to figure out why he didn’t let people get too close: he didn’t want to suffer the heart wrenching pain of total loss again.

 

This understanding led her to believe that, during the first few months on Hoth, he’d allowed himself to let people in, to let her pass through his walls, to form warm friendships with Bodhi, Chirrut and Baze, because he’d finally let himself believe that it was worth it. That despite their catastrophic losses on Scarif, Hoth had lulled him—had lulled _all_ of Rogue One, Jyn included—into a false sense of security. And their mission on Ord Mantell had shattered that and reminded him of how easily someone could be taken from him… something he’d let himself forget and ignore for a few months of blissful happiness. Now those moments and months of pure carefreeness that she’d so enjoyed were gone.

 

But even with the weight of reality sitting more heavily upon their shoulders, there were still flashes when Cassian connected with her. Instances when he let his guard down to share a moment just the two of them, when his whole face lit up and she felt herself warm from her toes to her head, just because of the tender way he looked at her.

 

And then the mission on Andelm IV happened three months ago, and everything changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more Papa-Bear/protective Baze in the future! And I selected Andelm IV because it's an actual planet in the Star Wars universe (according to Wookieepedia... thank goodness for Wookieepedia!) but very little is known about it. Therefore I will probably take liberal license to make it suite my needs!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at this! I am actually updating (mostly) on time! Woohoo!
> 
> Before you read this chapter, just a heads up that I slightly modified the very last two sentences in the previous chapter (Ch 3). As I continued writing more chapters and thought about where this story was going, I found myself disliking the dark, sad, angsty direction it was taking, particularly with regards to Cassian and his whole "closing off from the world" complex. So I've changed that a little! But that necessitated changing the last sentences of the previous chapter. Nothing else needed to change, everything else remains the same! And fair warning there will still be some dark, sad and angsty bits, but also lots of friendship, love, heroics, hurt, humor and more!
> 
> Happy reading!

(Three months ago…)

 

The _Millennium Falcon_ speeds through space, carrying Cassian Andor, Kay, Han Solo and Chewbacca back to Hoth. Back home. They’d been dispatched on a mission to broaden the Rebellion’s ring of smugglers and thieves working on their side—hence why Solo had accompanied the Intelligence Captain. Solo’s connections were invaluable, though Cassian rapidly discovered that, while the man was helpful with forming some contacts, he was incredibly detrimental in other negotiations, due to past transgressions and double crosses. Cassian quickly learned to ask—or rather, interrogate—Solo about his history with each person they planned to contact, before they walked into a meeting and blaster beams began flying.

 

Leia first partnered Cassian with Solo a few months ago, just after the Ord Mantell mission, while Jyn was sidelined during her recovery. After the first two missions with the (supposedly) ex-smuggler, Cassian had gone to Leia demanding to know what in the name of the Force he’d done to tick her off such that she would inflict Solo on him. She had laughed, exclaiming he’d done nothing wrong, just that she hoped his even temper, level-headedness and analytical approach would rub off on Solo and curb his rash tendencies.

 

Initially, Cassian had been skeptical and wondered if he’d even be able to work with Han Solo. Cassian’s reservations did not stem from a concern about the man’s loyalties, because Solo had come around to the Cause—at least partially—and Cassian still firmly believed that the man would one day turn into a valuable asset to the Alliance. No, the problem was the man’s insufferable “ego”—as Leia so vehemently called it. Where Cassian was quiet, Solo was loud. Where Cassian was confident, Solo was cocky. When Cassian stayed reserved, Solo didn’t hesitate to express himself. Cassian most certainly hadn’t relished the idea of putting up with Solo’s insufferableness, and in the beginning, he couldn’t picture them working well as a team. Normally his instincts are good, but he was proven wrong this time. The more he works with Solo, the more he recognizes that the man has skill and, while he doesn’t always agree with his tactics—and they don’t always work—they are effective… most of the time. Cassian recognizes, now, that Solo’s cockiness is well deserved—if infuriating—because the man is damn good, though Cassian still wishes he’d be a little more humble about it, like Chewbacca. Grudgingly, he admits that Solo’s irritating, brash charm and flash complement his own subtlety and quiet charisma. But he’ll never say that aloud. He’d never hear the end of it.

 

For all his inner grumbling at the ex-smuggler, Cassian can’t help but envy the man’s carefree attitude, which stems from his ability to shut things out, to ignore the atrocities of the Empire and focus only on his and Chewbacca’s lives—though that ability is gradually wearing down the more and more time he spends with Leia and the Alliance. Cassian thinks that if he himself had had that ability when he was younger, he would have ended up very similar to Solo… if he hadn’t joined the war against the Empire when he was six, and if tragedy after tragedy hadn’t assaulted him and sent him on the somewhat dark path he walks for the sake of the Rebellion. Even so, it’s unsettling to realize that, despite all of their differences, Cassian still sees himself in Solo, which is probably part of the reason he didn’t get along with the man in the beginning; because Cassian is not proud of who and what he’s become; he doesn’t consider himself a good person. So being forced to directly interact with someone who constantly reminds him of himself, who is a mix of who Cassian would have liked to have been and who he’s glad he’s not… well, it’s an exercise in self-restraint (on Solo’s particularly annoying days, it takes every ounce of Cassian’s will power to prevent himself from happily punching the man) and self-acceptance.

 

But despite all of that, he’s grown to respect the ex-smuggler and has even begun to trust him, much to his own surprise. It mostly has to do with the fact that Solo’s proved he can think of someone other than himself, though he still has a little trouble with that concept. In particular, he hasn’t quite accepted the concept of the Alliance being worth something, though Cassian’s conversation with him in the hallways of Hoth when they’d carried Bodhi to medical had started something within him. Cassian’s pretty sure that if he keeps wearing the other man down, Solo will get it eventually.

 

In the meantime, as the blue light of hyperspace flashes across their faces in the cockpit of the _Millennium Falcon,_ Cassian decides to have a long overdue conversation. He’s sitting in the chair diagonally behind Solo, so while he can’t see the whole of his face, he can see part of it. And he doesn’t need to see his face in order to read the man; Cassian’s had years of practice reading body language.

 

He leans back, places his hands behind his head and casually calls, “Solo, what do you think of Leia?”

 

The ex-smuggler’s shoulders stiffen minutely, so slightly that no one else would have noticed, but Cassian is not anyone else. _Baited…_ he thinks in amusement.

 

“Why do you ask?” Solo replies, voice suspiciously neutral. “She say something?”

 

“Oh, no, it just seems you two have been spending a lot of time together,” he remarks, as if he doesn’t care.

 

“Yeah, well,” the man fumbles for words, “she’s an interesting person.”

 

“Uh, huh,” Cassian agrees, nonplussed.

 

“I mean, she’s an incredible leader, what with her practically running the Rebellion and all, not to mention that she doesn’t take crap from anyone.”

_… Hooked…_ Cassian pats himself on the back. “Oh you’re absolutely right, I couldn’t have said it better myself. She is an amazing person who deserves the deepest respect and people who will truly care for her and who don’t treat her any differently because she’s a woman. She’s spent a long time disabusing people of their prejudices and misogynistic ways, I would hate to see someone come along who repeats mistakes of the past,” he muses aloud.

 

Solo’s eyes dart back towards Cassian, before returning to stare intently at something on the dashboard that absolutely does not need such close attention at the moment. “Hmmm,” he hums noncommittally.

 

“Wouldn’t you agree?” Cassian presses innocently. … _Line…_

 

The ex-smuggler turns to stare at him warily. “Is this the part where you warn me to stay away from her and that if I break her heart, you, as her friend, will break me?” he demands, trademark smirk attempting to mask his uncertainty, but his insecurity is evident to Cassian in the hunch of his shoulders.

_… And sinker,_ Cassian thinks smugly, before dropping his hands to his lap and leaning forward to meet the man’s gaze earnestly. “No, not at all. This is where I warn you that if you _do_ break her heart, _she_ will break you. She’ll make your life a living hell and you’ll deserve every moment of it. And I will sit on the sidelines, watching with glee.” He smiles maliciously at the other captain.

 

Solo’s eyes widen ever so fractionally, before he’s able to school his face back to his characteristic cockiness. He opens his mouth to respond, no doubt with something flippant, but just then the ship exits hyperspace right on time and immediately the radio flares to life with a familiar voice.

 

“ _Approaching vessel this is Echo Base, please identify yourself.”_

Cassian dons a headset and replies, “Echo Base this is _Millennium Falcon,_ clearance code Two-Two-Ex-Cee-Eight-Nine requesting the shields be dropped and the doors to a hangar be opened.”

 

“ _Copy that, Millennium Falcon, shields are down. Please proceed to Hangar One, Bay Eight. Mission successful? All hands accounted for?”_

“Affirmative, Echo Base. We’re all in one piece.”

 

The voice sighs in relief and breaks from customary correspondence. “ _Good. That’s good. Welcome home to all four of you._ ”

 

Cassian grins. “Thanks, Bodhi. It’s good to be back.”

 

*

 

Docking in Bay 8 of Echo Base, Solo and Chewbacca effortlessly settle the _Millenium Falcon_ onto the ground.

 

Cassian rises, clapping the pair on the shoulders. “It was good to have you on the mission, but Solo, next time I’ll have you enter meetings first, so your numerous enemies have a clear shot at you without having to go through me,” he informs the man, grinning wickedly. The side of his neck is still a little raw from a blaster bolt that had gotten a little too close while on its way to connect with Solo, who’d followed him into the room.

 

Solo smirks. “Nah, I think I’ll leave the honor of being my shield to you. Besides, having enemies means I must be doing something right. Otherwise it would mean I’ve never done anything noteworthy!”

 

Cassian nods agreeably. “You could look at it that way, or you could realize it means you don’t have the finesse to avoid making enemies.”

 

Solo frowns, opening his mouth to protest, but Cassian doesn’t give him the chance. Instead, he turns to the Wookie and the droid. “Chewbacca, Kay, you okay to unload while I go check in with the higher-ups?”

 

The co-pilot moans his assent, explaining he’ll also do some maintenance, and Kay nods, replying, “Of course we can handle such a simple job. What do you take us for, simpleminded Stormtroopers?”

 

“Absolutely not. I could never mistake your bulk for a Stormtrooper.”

 

Kay stares at him for a moment, before exclaiming indignantly, “Are you calling me fat? Are you aware that it is impossible for a droid to be fat? Unlike you we do not have an ounce of fatty lipids in our bodies, and I’ll have you know that I am an example of perfect design: limbs perfectly weighted for proper balance, torso sized for optimal utility. Now you on the other hand…” Kay looks him up and down. “…You look like you’ve gained a little around the middle. Is it perhaps time to revisit your dietary intake and begin considering—”

 

“Thanks,” Cassian interrupts in order to prevent the droid from beginning a long tirade, “I’ll leave things in your and Chewbacca’s capable hands.”

 

With that, Cassian makes a swift exit—ignoring Kay’s shouts of outrage at being ignored—and walks swiftly down the ramp and across the hangar—absently noticing that the _Falcon_ is the only ship present—working his way through the halls to the main control room, where he hopes to find Leia. Normally he would report into General Draven, but Draven is off base with Mon Mothma, meeting with delegates from other planets who are interested in joining the Alliance.

 

He finds her speaking with several scouts who have just returned from missions to Outer Rim planets in search of additional resources. Standing to the side, he waits patiently for her to finish. When the scouts leave, she turns to him and gestures for him to follow as she starts to make her way out of the room.

 

“Captain Andor,” she greets with a smile, “I take it the mission was a success?”

 

“Indeed, Princess Leia. We’ve added five traders to our suppliers, though we did lose two to… unfortunate circumstances where we disagreed over some of the Alliance’s personnel recruits.”

 

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, frowning slightly. “I trust that by ‘lose’ you mean a mutually agreeable parting of ways whereby the traders continue their business with others, just not with the Alliance.”

 

Cassian can perfectly understand what she is really asking: _For the love of the Force, Cassian, please don’t tell me we killed traders because of Han’s bloated ego!_ “Of course. I was able to dissuade them from unwise action… for the most part.” They continue their formal exchange until they reach the hall and step into a private room. Once they are out of earshot of others, Leia drops the act and steps forward to embrace him.

 

“It’s good to have you home,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

 

“It’s good to _be_ home,” he replies, hugging her tightly.

 

While everyone knows of Leia and Cassian’s close friendship, they choose not to broadcast it and instead remain formal whenever discussing missions and Alliance related things, so that no one can accuse them of unprofessional behavior or favoritism.

 

Unfortunately, the embrace brings Leia into close enough proximity that she immediately picks up on the slight burn on Cassian’s neck. She touches it gently with her hand and tssks. “What’s this?”

 

“It’s nothing,” he reassures her quickly, immediately kicking himself for his word choice because Leia has learned that when Cassian says “it’s nothing,” either he’s dying or there’s a really good reason he doesn’t want her to know.

 

Her eyes turn stormy. “Did Han do this?” she demands, immediately leaping to the correct conclusion. “Because if he did I swear I will assign him to the worst mission in the dredges of—”

 

Cassian gently grabs her hand and pulls it away, stopping her tirade. “Though Solo isn’t entirely guiltless, he did not fire the weapon and it’s my own fault for not stepping aside more quickly,” he tells her, letting a smile creep up into his eyes to let her know that he is okay and holds no grudge against the ex-smuggler. Her eyes lose their fury, but the frown remains on her face, so Cassian continues, “You were right; we worked well together. Not always without mishap,” he admits, “but we got the job done.”

 

That finally returns the smile to her face. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps I’ll partner you two again, after all, you need to keep your reflexes sharp and with Han being such a target magnet, he will obviously provide you with plenty of opportunities to practice ducking.” She pulls away with him reluctantly, preparing to return to work. “Now, I would love nothing more than to sit down with you to talk, but unfortunately I have some rather pressing matters to attend to,” she explains apologetically.

 

Recalling the lack of ships in Hangar One and the general quiet of the base, Cassian realizes there are far fewer people here than there should be. “Where is everyone?”

 

Leia’s eyes shutter, donning a regretful look. “Just a little while ago, we got word that a large party of Imperial Fleets is amassing in the Kuat system, traveling in non-defensive formation, as they are in their own territory. Consulting with various senators, the council decided this is an excellent opportunity to strike the Empire unawares and hopefully decimate a large portion of their armada. Every available person and ship here was just dispatched to head them off and engage them.”

 

Cassian marvels that less than a year ago, an offensive such as that would never have been considered. But with the Rebellion’s success beginning on Scarif—though with heavy casualties—and culminating in the destruction of the Empire’s most powerful weapon, the Death Star, the Alliance has begun its bid for true war against the Empire. The opportunity seems too good to be true, however, and it causes him some concern.

 

Leia must read the uncertainty in his face—no matter how good his mask is, he can never hide things from her—because she nods, “I know. It seems like a trap to me, which is what I told the other council members. They disagreed. However, I did instruct the squadron leaders dispatched from here to break off the attack at any sign of something amiss,” she informs him smugly. “They can tell the Council they were just following orders and place the blame on me. I don’t care so long as they make it home.”

 

Cassian smiles and kisses her forehead. “You are an incredible leader, Leia. I am glad I am on your side.”

 

She grins at him. “Remember those words the next time I send you out with Solo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Leia. Absolutely love her. And as I've said before, I love the idea of her and Cassian being like brother and sister. After this story finishes (which will take a while), I plan to write a prequel centering on the two of them and the mission I referenced in Ch 9 of Don't Leave Me Now.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Until next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow chapter as we let Jyn and Cassian re-connect just a bit, then back to the action!

Sitting in the communications center, Jyn scribbles down a few notes from an Imperial transmission she just overheard. Nothing particularly important, but she’ll pass along the information anyway. She’d been assigned the task of monitoring various Imperial frequencies after her injury on Ord Mantell, because she’d been going crazy confined to the base and sitting inactive while her body healed. When she’d nearly shot a fellow rebel who had startled her—she remains unapologetic about the incident, it had been his own fault for sneaking up on her—Leia had arranged for Jyn to put her skills to use in communications. Yes, it still confines her to the base, but at least it gives her something to do. 

Though she’d finally received a clean bill of health from Yevez over three weeks ago, she has yet to be reassigned to a more active job. She’s itching to get out in the field again and she admits she’s considered spiking an intelligence soldier’s drink—with something that will temporarily make them sick, in order to free a position that she would oh so happily fill—but thus far she has restrained herself from such drastic actions. She’s pretty sure that sort of stunt would quickly be discovered by Cassian and Leia, and though both would secretly be amused, they’d also be exasperated and probably stick her with some other boring job just to teach her a lesson. Unless maybe I can pin the crime on Bodhi… she muses, briefly entertaining the idea as she looks across the room to where the pilot is hunched over a console, obviously concentrating intently. No, they’d never be fooled. Bodhi’s too good to stoop to such a lowly move. Chirrut on the other hand… he’s mischievous enough that Cassian might consider he’d done it for a moment, until he actually thinks about it and realizes Chirrut has no motive. Plus, Chirrut isn’t even stationed at the base. She hasn’t seen Chirrut or Baze since just after the Ord Mantell mission, and the only thing people tell her when she asks is that they’d been assigned elsewhere. Though she’d never admit it, she misses the pair of them.

She sighs, resigning herself to continue her communications job, though still half thinking about how she might persuade Leia into reassigning her, all the while keeping one ear listening to the Imperial frequencies, which are currently quiet. 

The door from the hallway into the communications room slides open and a figure steps through, and the small knot of worry that’s been sitting in Jyn’s stomach since Cassian left on his mission with K2, Han Solo and Chewbacca, releases and relief floods her. She always worries when he’s gone, just as he always does when she’s the one on a mission, and yes she’d heard Bodhi hail the Falcon over the radio, but knowing that he’s all right very different from seeing him.

Cassian scans the room and when his eyes meet hers, he shares a small smile. She returns his with one of her own. Normally she’d hold nothing back, but she’s not about to let an overt amount of her emotions show in the middle of a public room. She’s glad he’s back and is smiling, but a small part of her notices that his eyes are slightly veiled. Yes, he’s smiling, but his walls are partially raised.

Nonetheless, he makes his way over to her and sits down in the empty seat beside her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently. 

“It’s good to have you home,” she greets, keeping her voice quiet enough so that her words are only for him. Her I missed you remains unspoken, but she communicates it through her gaze.

In a rare—at least these days—display of emotion, his face and entire demeanor softens, and for a very brief moment, his walls come all the way down. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs, brave enough to say it aloud, braver than her. 

They sit in companionable silence for just a moment, soaking in each other’s sturdy, reassuring presence, until someone clears their throat just off to her left. And just like that, Cassian’s walls go back up. She takes small comfort in the fact that he does not withdraw his hand from hers—apparently completely comfortable with others seeing their small display of affection, which warms her heart—but when she turns to the person who interrupted them, her gaze turns deadly. Her eyes fall on a rebel intelligence officer she does not know—whose eyes are on Cassian—and she lets her anger at his interruption bleed out through her eyes. “Yes?” she snaps. “Do you have a gizka stuck in your throat?”

The rebel is clearly about to reply with some sort of nasty comment, his face haughty, until his eyes travel from Cassian to land on Jyn’s face. He takes in her expression and visibly pales. Swallowing nervously, he stammers, “Uh, I need to speak with C-Captain Andor regarding s-some intelligence I received f-from—”

“Is this intelligence of critical importance?” she cuts him off, hardening her glare. “Does the fate of the Alliance rest upon it? Do you need to give it to him in person or can you just file a report?”

The officer shifts from foot to foot. “N-no, it’s nothing significant, just some supply information that I thought might be—”

“If it’s not important then write it in a report and send it up the chain of command instead of rudely interrupting a reunion for no good reason,” she rebukes. “Both Captain Andor and I have more important things to do than hold the hand of some fresh intelligence recruit in order to help him begin climbing the ladder. Do it yourself, through hard work and determination, rather than trying to jump the line by sucking up to the Captain!” she finishes, voice full of reprimand. 

“Y-yes ma-am, absolutely ma-am, I’ll work on that ma-am!” he stutters, before making a quick exit. 

Jyn smiles smugly, patting herself on the back for a job well done, before she turns back to Cassian, finding him staring at her with an amused expression.

“You know,” he starts, a smile slowly slipping onto his face. A real smile, the first she can remember in weeks, “I appreciate you protecting our valuable time, but I think you may have just permanently scared off one of Draven’s new recruits.” 

She sniffs. “If he quits after a simple tongue lashing from a superior”—she is a Lieutenant, after all—“then he doesn’t have what it takes to make it in Intelligence. You know better than anyone that a spy has to have a stiff spine and the gumption to make snap decisions whilst alone in the field.” 

An emotion flashes across his face, too quickly for Jyn to read, but if she had to guess, she would say it was guilt or sadness, and then the smile returns to his face, though less bright than before. He nods his head in agreement. “You are absolutely right.” 

“Of course I am right! When will you learn that I am always right?”

“Always?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “I seem to remember that one time on Jakku when—”

“All right, all right,” she cuts him off hastily, “let me amend that. When will you learn that I am almost always right?”

He’s about to reply, eyes sparkling as if he’s just baited and trapped her into a clever joke that he’s about to deliver the punchline to, when Jyn’s hears rapid chatter come on over the radio and he catches the shift in her body language. Immediately turning serious, he queries, “Is everything all right?”

She shakes her head and turns up the volume, turning her entire attention to the headset she’s wearing. “Give me a minute.”

Immediately, he falls silent, allowing her to focus. Moments later, she communicates to him what she’s hearing. “It sounds like an Imperial squadron is being dispatched to a mining outpost on Andelm IV,” she murmurs sadly, knowing none of the occupants will make it out alive. The Empire has made a pattern of this lately, targeting cities and areas with rich resources that the Alliance could potentially harvest. It saddens her, but she knows there’s nothing the Rebellion can do about it, especially since all of the ships that are stationed at Hoth have been dispatched to attempt to destroy one of the Empire’s fleets in a different quadrant of the galaxy. 

This—the Empire’s ruthless destruction of cities—has become such a regular occurrence that she startles in surprise when Cassian leaps to his feet and snatches a spare headset off of the console, donning it quickly. “Did you say Andelm IV?” he demands, voice tight, as if he’s doing his best to keep a lid on his emotions.

“Yes,” she confirms, confused and beginning to feel the stirrings of panic. She’s rarely seen Cassian this distressed. “Why? What’s wrong, Cassian?”

He listens to the broadcast for a few more moments, before slamming the headset down and meeting her gaze, his eyes worried. “That’s one of our clandestine satellite operations. We set it up as a temporary station for the mining and were planning on pulling our people out eight days from now because the Empire was getting close…” he runs his hands viciously through his hair. “Blast! I thought we had more time!” 

He starts scanning through one of the consoles, no doubt looking for any nearby Rebel ships he can call to aid him.

The horror of the situation truly hits her, before anger replaces it—an entire town is about to be blown off the map because the Rebellion endangered them. “I thought it was the Alliance’s policy never to set up bases in cities! For the citizens’ protection!” she demands accusingly.

“We don’t usually. This was not my idea,” he growls vehemently, never taking his eyes off of the screen. “But the entire outpost supports the Rebellion and their location was deemed vital due to its mines. So I was overruled,” he explains bitterly. “Since I couldn’t prevent the station being set up there, I sent the best rebel’s I could to protect it.” He glances at her quickly, before returning his eyes to the screen. In that brief glance, though, she could swear there was guilt in his eyes. Who is he talking about? Which rebels?

He slams his fist down on the console. “Damn, there are no Alliance ships close enough to offer assistance.” Drawing in a deep breath, he settles himself slightly, setting his jaw and hardening his gaze. “It’s a small outpost, not many residents. We’ll have to try to get our troops and as many citizens out of there as possible. We can’t just leave them to fend for themselves, we’ll have to take the Falcon.”

Jyn frowns. As much as she hates the idea of leaving allies to the mercy of the Empire, the Falcon is just one ship. “Cassian,” she starts, prepared to be the voice of reason and point out the folly of sending a single ship against an Imperial squadron, when he meets her eyes and his expression stops her cold. There’s panic in his eyes.

“Baze and Chirrut are on that base. I put them there,” he confesses quietly, his eyes guilt wracked and pleading for forgiveness.

Jyn freezes for a moment, mind rapidly trying to catch up to the rapid change in circumstances. Well he certainly was telling the truth; he sent the best rebels possible, a small part of her acknowledges proudly, before she snaps back to reality. But before she can say anything to ease Cassian’s guilt—he was only doing his job—another officer interrupts her.

“Hang on just a minute,” Major Yakut demands, “you don’t have the authority to bring a large group of un-vetted people here, let alone to launch an offensive against the Empire!”

“I am not going to launch an offensive,” Cassian counters. “This is going to be a ‘get in and get the hell out’ sort of situation!”

“You can’t do that!” the Major maintains.

“I can and I will! Someone has to!” Cassian exclaims.

“You need permission from the Base’s ranking offer!”

“There’s no time! And the ranking officer on this base right now is Leia Organa and I can assure you that she will sign off on this mission! Go ahead and ask her, but I’m not waiting for the answer!” With that, he turns and races from the room. 

Immediately, Jyn shouts to one of her fellow rebels, “Barrut! Take over my station!” She meets eyes with the woman, whose eyes widen as she nods quickly, before storming out of the room and running after Cassian. 

Sprinting, she manages to catch up with him. Matching her stride to his, she huffs out, “I’m coming with you.”

“No!” he practically shouts. “Absolutely not!”

Anger surges through her. “You can’t stop me! I refuse to be coddled or kept on the sidelines, Cassian! We’re a team, a partnership! And I can take care of myself! Just because I got hurt last time doesn’t mean—”

“Jyn!” he cuts her off mid rant, sliding to a stop just inside the hangar and pulling her around to face him. “I’m not saying no because I’m trying to protect you or because of how much you mean to me, I’m saying no for the sake of protecting as many of the people on Andelm IV as possible!” he explains frantically. “We have one ship. One! To evacuate more than three hundred people, and the fact of the matter is that I don’t know if the Falcon can fit three hundred! We might have to leave people to die, so if you come too, that will be one less person we can save. I’m taking Han and Chewie because they can fly the ship while I help get people on board.” He reaches out and cups her face with both of his hands, eyes and voice softening. “I would love nothing more than to have you by my side. There’s no one I trust so much as you. If you could fly the Millennium Falcon, I would take you in a heartbeat, no question,” he murmurs vehemently, letting the truth of his words bleed out into his eyes.

She swallows, anger gone and suddenly replaced by fear. Fear that no one aboard the Falcon will make it home. “All right,” she whispers hoarsely, seeing what he says is the truth and not an excuse to keep her safe. “But swear to me. Promise me you’ll come back,” she demands, voice gaining strength as she grabs onto the front of his jacket with both hands and shakes him to emphasize her point.

“I promise,” he murmurs, leaning forward and sealing it with a kiss, before breaking away and racing into the hangar towards the Falcon. 

Those two words do more to ease her fear than anything else could have. Cassian does not make promises he doesn’t believe he can keep, and while something may happen that takes it beyond his control, she knows he’ll do everything he can to keep that promise. 

She sees Solo look up at Cassian as the Captain gets within shouting distance and yells, “SOLO! Get that bucket of rust in the air NOW!” 

Normally Han Solo would defend the honor of his ship, but the urgency of the situation is easily communicated in Cassian’s frantic run, so he keeps his mouth shut and whirls around to run up the ramp. Both rebels disappear into the Millennium Falcon, the ramp rises, and before Jyn knows it, the ship rockets out of the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, of course 300 people can't fit in the living space of the Falcon, but the Falcon does have a large cargo area which is why Cassian think the Falcon might be able to save a large number.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onward! 
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments! I hope I can continue to retain your interest. I admit the story is coming together a little more slowly than I would like, but it is getting there.
> 
> Happy reading!

Cassian, Chewbacca and Solo come out of hyperspace in the middle of a storm. A storm of Imperial ships descending on Andelm IV, kept at bay only by a handful of valiant Alliance fighters that speed in and out of formation, their superior maneuverability and skill the only reason they haven’t all been blasted out of the sky. But even as the _Millennium Falcon_ dives below the battle, racing towards the ground, Cassian sees a rebel ship disappear, shattered to oblivion. _We haven’t got long,_ he thinks grimly, rapidly trying to estimate just how much time they have. _Fifteen minutes at best._

 

“Eldian base this is Captain Han Solo with the _Millennium Falcon_ , here to extract all rebel forces and citizens. Do you read me?”

 

Static greets them for several moments before, “Copy Captain Solo, please confirm your entrance clearance and credentials.”

 

The _Falcon_ jerks suddenly as it takes a hit, free falling for several moments before stabilizing. “Dammit soldier!” Solo growls into the mic, determinedly weaving his way closer and closer to the ground. “We don’t have time for this! Do you seriously think I might be an Imperial ship trying to worm its way past your defenses to kill you?! You’re all going to be dead soon! The Empire’s about to blow this city off the face of the planet, I don’t think they’re going to bother with a stupid ploy to infiltrate! And even if I were with the Empire, you are dead once this Imperial fleet gets done with you! So either I’m an invader and you’re about to die, or I’m your only chance of getting out of here If I don’t get vaporized before I make it to you! Choose!”

 

The response is immediate this time. “Apologies, Captain Solo. Please make your way to the outpost’s center square. There should be enough room for you to land and most of us are holed up in an adjacent building. Hurry.” The radio goes silent.

 

“The nerve of that guy!” Solo huffs in disbelief.

 

Chewie glares at Solo and moans his reproach.

 

“Oh, well all right,” Solo responds defensively, “so just ‘cause they’re in a life-or-death situation means they are allowed to get snappy with me? I’ll remember that the next time you and I are in one, partner!”

 

“You know,” Cassian comments from his position behind the pilots, “it would have been faster if you had just given them your code rather than going into that long winded rebuke.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s the principle of the matter!” Solo exclaims, veering to avoid a TIE Fighter.

 

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “You just don’t remember what your code is, do you?”

 

Silence. Then, “Shut up. You try remembering a kriffing string of numbers and letters when you’re navigating a mine field of lasers, ships and death!”

 

“Actually, I have a significant amount of experience with that, Solo,” Cassian murmurs, before clapping Solo and Chewie on the shoulder in a silent farewell, and heading towards the exit. They’d made their plans while en route: the pilots are to stay on the _Falcon_ no matter what, because this whole mission will become pointless if they get people on board only to have no one to fly them to safety. Cassian would head to the ground and get as many people on board as possible.

 

Cassian feels the moment they touch down, and seconds later the loading door opens, allowing him to sprint down the ramp and into the building he knows is the command center. Eldian base was not a true base, and it had never been set up or outfitted as one, they had just put some monitoring equipment in a building the locals gave them and hoped for the best… it was just supposed to have been a temporary base: less than a month. It is almost two months old, now.

 

The door to the building flies open, allowing him to enter. Immediately, he’s accosted by a combination of grim silence from half of the inhabitants, and moans and screams of pain and panic from the other half. It’s an even split between true rebels and rebel-friendly citizens. Some citizens remain stoic, while some rebels break down sobbing. Casualties litter the floor, people unable to dodge the stray fire from overhead ships or victims of exploding parts raining down on the city.

 

“Captain Andor!” a voice greets him in surprise.

 

Turning to locate it, his eyes find Lieutenant Maera. She’s not unscathed, blood bathes half of her face, but she’s on her feet and her eyes are bright with determination and new found hope.

 

“Lieutenant,” he nods. “The _Millennium Falcon_ is here to take you and everyone we can manage off of this planet and back to Echo Base. It’s going to be tight, but two hundred people can probably fit in its cargo bay, and others can line the hallways and living quarters. Wherever there is space, fill it with someone! I’m not leaving anyone behind if I can help it! Gather your troops and help the wounded and citizens on board!”

 

She snaps to attention, giving him a salute before turning around and barking orders. The room mobilizes instantly, rebels and citizens alike streaming for the door, hope lending wings to their feet.

 

Scanning the room, Cassian searches for two faces in particular, but doesn’t find them. _Please no… please don’t let me be too late._ He had been wary of the two guardians from the moment he met them; they saw past his walls too easily—Chirrut in particular—and on the ride home from Eadu, he could feel their judgement seeping towards him. But his mistrust had rapidly dissipated when they volunteered for Scarif without a second thought and proceeded to play not only an integral part in the mission, but in his recovery in the aftermath and on many missions since then. They are now two of his most trusted friends, and he was the one who put them here on this base. If anything happened to them…

 

“Lieutenant!” he shouts to get Maera’s attention. When she turns to look at him questioningly, he continues, “Is this everyone? The whole outpost and all of your rebels?”

 

Her confusion clears and she shakes her head, but her expression turns regretful. “No. Some citizens ran for the hills the moment the fleet appeared, others have hunkered down in their homes and refuse to budge despite our warnings, and the rest…” she trailed off, before continuing, “the rest are already casualties—”

 

Cassian can only stare at her, unwilling to comprehend that Chirrut and Baze are gone…

 

 “—except,” the Lieutenant continues, shaking her head, “a group of citizens got trapped in a fire and collapse at the storage house that was hit with a downed ship, and some of my soldiers went to try to get them—against my orders. It’s possible they made it out and are on their way here, but that was twenty minutes ago and I haven’t heard from them since. Other than that, this is everyone.”

 

Without having to ask, Cassian knows who the “soldiers” are. _Blast it, you two! Always the heroes!_ he curses mentally, even knowing he himself would have done the exact same thing. Aloud he orders, “Finish getting people on board! If I’m not back by the time you’re finished, get out of here!”

 

A protest appears on her lips, but Cassian doesn’t stick around long enough to hear it. Drawing his blaster, he sprints out the door. He pulls up a mental map of the outpost from when he’d last been here setting it up, and makes his way towards where he knows the sole storage house is.

 

Halfway there, he dives for cover behind a broken down Speeder, as an X-Wing careens over his head and smashes into the building directly in front of him. An explosion blasts outwards, throwing shrapnel and heat in every direction. He doesn’t quite make it all the way behind the Speeder, as a shred of metal whips past his head. With quick reflexes that jerk his head sideways, he narrowly avoids getting his ear removed by a piece of shrapnel, but he’s not fast enough to avoid it slicing into his right shoulder. Blood wells up immediately, but he doesn’t have time to stop and assess it.

 

Returning to his feet and racing past the building now in flame, he sends a silent prayer of thanks for the pilot’s service, shutting down all other emotions attached to losing someone.

 

He turns the final corner and stops dead in his tracks. The storage building is ablaze. Black smoke pours from every window and half of the roof and one wall is gone. _Dear Force, if anyone was in there when it went up, there’s no way they are still alive._ He spends a precious few seconds gazing at it in awe and horror, long enough for him to make a terrible mistake. His momentary distraction leaves him smack in the middle of the open as yet another ship—Imperial, this time—strikes the ground forty feet in front of him, its momentum sending it skidding towards him down the alley. He turns to run, knowing he’ll be too late, when a hand grabs his arm and jerks him sideways through a doorway and into a building. The body attached to the hand then shoves him farther into the house, before knocking him off of his feet and slamming him to the ground. The air roars as the TIE Fighter screams by, taking out the front wall of the house and spraying sparks, none of which touch Cassian due to the large body shielding him.

 

After several moments of silence, the weight is removed as the person stands up and Cassian can breathe again. He gasps, trying to get air into his lungs even as they spasm from the abuse of such a hard landing, hard enough that he can already picture the bruises that will cover his back tomorrow— _if there **is** a tomorrow, _he thinks grimly, before chastising himself; he’d promised Jyn after all. He groans, rolling onto his side and then his knees. “Thanks Baze,” he wheezes through the dust floating in the air.

 

The guardian brushes himself off and holds out a hand to Cassian, pulling the Captain to his feet. “You are welcome, Little Brother,” he rumbles. “But what in the name of the Force are you doing here?”

 

Cassian almost laughs, but it comes out as a cough instead. “Ironically, I was trying to come rescue you.”

 

“Perhaps next time,” a new voice addresses him from the shadows, “it would be wise not to stand foolishly in a runway of death trying to see who will blink first: the human or the ship that has no eyes to close.”

 

Cassian turns to the recesses of the building, his eyes picking out the smiling face of Chirrut. “Yes, well, even the best of us needs our friends to help us every once in a while, no?”

 

Chirrut’s smile widens. “But of course. Now, please, continue with your rescuing. While we are no helpless fools, I am more than happy to hand the decision making over to you. That way, when we all die, I can blame you.”

 

“I would just as soon blame him for getting us all out of here alive, if it’s all the same to you,” Baze grumbles.

 

“What’s this?” Chirrut demands. “Well today must truly be our last day alive if _you_ are the optimist while _I_ remain the pessimist.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Cassian interrupts, “enough bickering, you two. You can tell each other how much you mean to each other once we get safely home, but right now can we focus on the fact that we have about eight minutes to make it back to central square while dodging stray fire and falling ships?”

 

“Of course,” Baze agrees.

 

“Is there anyone else with you?” Cassian asks.

 

“This way,” Chirrut replies, turning and leading the way through a back doorway.

 

Ten people are scattered about the room in various stages of exhaustion. Three lean against a wall, three sit in chairs at a table, two sit in a corner, clinging to one another, and the last two huddle together, one lying with her head in the other person’s lap. All of them are singed and blackened with soot and burns, every one of them hacking and coughing. Now that he has time to think about it, Cassian realizes that Chirrut and Baze are not unscathed, either. Baze’s voice is more gravelly than usual and both men’s hands show signs of close proximity to heat.

 

Taking in the sight, Cassian grimaces. Half of the people look like they’re healthy enough to make it, the other half are going to struggle. Donning his “Captain voice,” as Jyn calls it—a combination of steely resolve, encouragement and demand—to get them moving, he orders firmly, “Okay listen up everyone. On your feet! Your ride away from this hellhole is just across the city. You make it there and you make it out.” _So long as Solo can fly us out of here without getting shot down,_ he adds silently. “I need those of you who are able to help those who are not. Baze,” he turns to the man, “you and Chirrut take lead and get us the hell back to that ship. I’ll take the back and help any stragglers.”

 

The tall guardian eyes him for a moment, clearly unhappy with the arrangement, before nodding.

 

The room mobilizes; those not already upright begin shifting to their feet, aided by others. The couple who were huddled together when Cassian first entered, the woman’s head in her partner’s lap, are struggling. One of the women is clearly gravely injured. Her leg is slick with blood from a jagged wound in her thigh, and her breathing is labored. By the presence of more blood soaking her shirt, Cassian can tell it’s not just from smoke inhalation. The other woman is desperately trying to get her partner to her feet, but the woman with the bad leg just moans.

 

Cassian rushes to help them; everyone needs to get out of here _now._ Sliding to his knees beside them, he reaches out to help, but stops before touching either of them; he knows from experience that sometimes the last thing someone injured wants is a complete stranger touching them, even to help. He meets eyes with the healthier woman and asks quietly, “May I help?” 

 

The woman stares at him, her eyes a fiery blue, clearly about to say no, but then her eyes flick to the blood coating her partner, then flick back to him. “Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”

 

Cassian shifts forward, then, shedding his jacket and carefully maneuvering it beneath the injured woman’s leg. “What’s your name?” he asks the blue-eyed woman, who stares at him with so much hope and determination in her eyes that it makes his heart ache.

 

“Schaeli,” she replies, moving down to help him with her partner’s leg as he ties his jacket around the still bleeding wound.

 

When he finishes, he looks to the injured woman’s face and sees her eyes are open. “Th-thank you,” she gasps, sweat beading on her face.

 

He grimaces. “Don’t thank me yet.” She’s in bad shape—and she knows it, too… he can tell by the look in her eyes—and he doesn’t like the odds of her making it all of the way to the _Falcon_.  “Schaeli and I are going to do our best to get you out of here, all right? My name’s Cassian, what’s yours?” In Cassian’s experience, sometimes the connection of a name is what makes the difference between life and death. A name can tie a person to the world, remind them that they aren’t alone, that they need to keep moving, to keep fighting.

 

A small measure of awareness returns to her gaze when he shares his name with her, a little bit of her fatigue drains away and she coughs, before grinding out, “Leeta.”

 

“Okay Leeta, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I only wish it were under better circumstances.” He grasps one of her arms as Schaeli moves and grabs her other, and they pull her to her feet.

 

Leeta grits her teeth, clearly suppressing an exclamation of pain as her bad leg is forced to stand. Schaeli ducks under her arm and helps her stay upright, taking some of her weight.

 

When they’re stable, Cassian lets go and steps back, turning to the rest of the room. Everyone’s on their feet. “Baze, Chirrut, lead the way.”

 

Chirrut nods. “With pleasure, Captain.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am paranoid, I've included in this chapter's end notes a warning for violent/sad content that some people might rather avoid. It's highly spoilery, which is why I do not include it here. If you wish to skip to the end notes to see what it is and how to avoid it, feel free to do so. 
> 
> In some time zones, technically it is still Sunday, so technically I am still posting on time! Sorry about the little delay, though.

Outside, the sky roars with battling ships, chaos in sound, sight and smell. Beneath it, the small party of thirteen people, a mix of rebels and citizens linked by a desperate bid for survival, plunge forward. Soon, the differing health of the civilians causes their group to split into two, as Schaeli, Leeta, and Cassian fall several hundred feet behind. Despite their slower pace, the couple’s determination and strength impress Cassian to no end. Given her condition, he’d half expected Leeta to crash to the ground after only a few steps, but she continues to put one foot in front of the other.

 

Even so, time is not on their side. The slower pace wears at Cassian’s nerves, each second that slips by increasing his awareness of just how much ground they still have to cover, of how rebel ships are dropping like hailstones in a storm. Their defense is rapidly failing and soon, soon there will be nothing standing between the Empire’s small armada and this town’s total destruction. A small measure of relief fills him when he sees the forward group get farther and farther ahead and disappear around a corner; they’re not out of danger yet, but Baze, Chirrut and the other eight have a fighting chance of making it. Focusing his attention back to his own situation, he realizes that he, Schaeli and Leeta, on the other hand, do not. Lieutenant Maera should be finished getting people on board within the next ten minutes, and if she and Solo follow his orders, then the _Millennium Falcon_ will be gone. At the pace he and the two citizens are currently moving, they are not going to make it.

 

 _Damn,_ he swears internally, lamenting at just how _close_ they are, and yet not nearly close enough. _If only Leeta’s leg weren’t injured… can I carry her?_ He considers it, but just as they pass a side alley on their right, which forms a T with the alley they are currently following, a high whistling starts up from somewhere behind him and rapidly grows louder, alerting him to approaching danger. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he sees yet another TIE Fighter falling from the sky, headed right for them.

 

“Look out!” he yells, throwing himself forward and pushing his two companions up against the wall to their left—it’s the closest thing to cover available to them, as the entire alley is otherwise bare. He shoves them to the ground and crouches down in front of them, bracing his arms on either side of them in what seems like a futile effort to provide some small additional protection.

 

The crash as the Fighter hits a building just a short distance away is deafening. Rubble cascades down around them, showering them with dust and debris, blinding them to everything but the cloud that now surrounds them. Something strikes Cassian’s lower back, almost like a pinch, but that minor discomfort is dwarfed moments later by a particularly large piece of wreckage that collides with Cassian’s left shoulder. He can’t suppress a howl of pain as he feels his shoulder dislocate.

 

A few moments later, everything stops shifting and the immediate peril appears to be over. As the dust settles, Cassian fights his way to his feet, biting his tongue as his shoulder shifts, telling him in no uncertain terms that it feels like someone just stabbed a knife into the socket and twisted. _Hard._ He pushes the pain away, doing his best to shut down the nerve receptors that scream at him: _DON'T MOVE!_ He doesn't have time for it, and instead turns to assess the damage, finding a huge chunk of what was probably once the wall of a house sitting in front of him, only a foot away. If it had landed any closer, it would have crushed them.

 

The chunk of debris that nearly killed them saves his life a moment later. Prompted by an instinct, a shudder that goes up his spine and to his ears, whispering of danger, his eyes flit to the end of the side alley that they are now directly in front of. At that precise moment, a squad of Imperial soldiers rounds the corner, catching him completely by surprise.

 

He has a single tenth of a second to react before the squad open fires, and his only thought is that the Empire seems to be going a little overboard on one small rebel-friendly outpost. _S_ _urely they know this base is about to fall? Why send in ground troops?_ the analytical side to his brain wonders. _Because total destruction and extermination are the only options for the Empire… and because my luck today is apparently horrendous,_ the pessimistic side of his brain replies.

 

He dives behind the block of rubble that stands about four feet high, and less than a second later, blaster fire scorches the space his head had been just moments before.

 

The abrupt meeting of his body with the ground does nothing to lessen the pain in his shoulder, and it tweaks something lower, something near his abdomen. His vision whites out for a moment and he gasps, paralyzed by the all consuming agony that seizes his body. _Something is wrong,_ a voice in his head whispers. _Something is very wrong_. But since his vision returns and his body regains its ability to move and breath, he ignores the pain and that niggling thought of worry. As long as he can function enough to get these people off of this forsaken planet, that's all that matters right now. He puts his back to the block of rubble serving as their shield, gingerly resting against it as his bruised ribs and shoulder creak and protest. Now facing Leeta and Schaeli, he sees both of them still lean against the wall where he’d shoved them. And in a small show that his luck isn’t all bad today, they, too, are shielded from the blaster fire.

 

Schaeli stares back at him resolutely, eyes fierce, not fearful as Cassian half expected a civilian’s to be—and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not _entirely_ certain that his own eyes are free of fear… that had been _far_ too close of a call and their situation has gone from bad to worse.

 

“Well,” Schaeli starts, clearing her throat, “that’s a bit of a setback.”

 

Cassian can’t stop a surprised laugh from escaping his mouth, startled at her ability to remain humorous at a time like this, but he instantly regrets it when his ribs shift. _Okay, change 'bruised ribs' to 'cracked ribs,'_ he instructs himself mentally, grimacing as his list of injuries grows longer and his chance of continuing to function well decreases. Pulling himself from his thoughts, he replies, “And that is a bit of an understatement,” before looking around in order to assess their situation better.

 

Further decreasing their already rapidly decreasing odds of survival, the alley back to the _Falcon_ is now blocked by a nearly vertical six foot wall of rubble, collapsed from the surrounding buildings. Turning around is not an option; not only would it take too long to double back, but Cassian’s pretty sure it will be blocked by Stormtroopers soon. His, Schaeli and Leeta’s only chance is to go over that wall.

 

_Well, there is no way we’re getting past it with an Imperial squad firing at us. We’ll be sitting ducks the moment we try to climb it._

Which means Cassian has to take down an entire Imperial squad single handedly… literally. His left hand hangs uselessly at his side, a constant throbbing ache. Every attempt to move it only sends fire scorching through his body. The small part of his brain that still retains an ounce of self-preservation instincts starts wondering if he'll permanently lose the use of that arm—if the nerves are pinched in the wrong way for too long, or if the circulation is diminished—but he silences those thoughts. They are entirely unhelpful right now. There's no point in thinking about anything but surviving the next few minutes.

 

Resigned, he pulls out his spare blaster and sets it on the ground beside him, then picks up his own blaster from where it had fallen on the ground when he’d shielded Schaeli and Leeta. He starts to turn in the direction of the soldiers, when a hand brushes his right shoulder. He suppresses a hiss when the hand unwittingly touches the graze he’d received earlier when he’d almost lost his ear.

 

He glances back and sees Schaeli’s hand still partially outstretched between them. She stares at it in surprise: it’s covered in blood.

 

 _Huh,_ Cassian muses to himself. _I guess it was a little more than a graze._ He’d recognized the wetness that’s been spreading down his right sleeve for the past five minutes, but he’d shoved it away as unimportant. Just as with his other injuries, pain is irrelevant right now and will only hamper him. He can still use the arm and that’s all that matters right now.

 

Schaeli’s eyes glance between his shoulders, having clearly thought the right one was uninjured—due to his dark clothing, which conceals the blood—and the obvious misshapen form of his left. She seems about to comment, but her eyes meet his and she sets her mouth in a determined line.

 

“I can shoot,” she declares, nodding to the spare blaster resting by his feet. “And I’m a damn good shot.” There’s no arrogance in her voice.

 

Without a word, Cassian nudges the blaster towards her, then turns and raises his head and arm high enough to clear their makeshift shield, firing immediately. He has enough time to get two shots off, and two Troopers fall, before he has to duck back under cover. The moment he does, Schaeli rises, peering out from the other side of the block and firing. Cassian can’t see the result, but he can guess it’s favorable by the grim smile of satisfaction that spreads across her face as she ducks back behind their makeshift cover.

 

Simultaneously, they both fire off another quick volley, taking down two more, but before they make it back to safety, Schaeli cries out and jerks back, left hand coming up to clutch her right arm, where Cassian can see blood begin to seep out.

 

She sees his concerned glance and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

 

A storm of enemy fire lights up the wall above their heads, too thick to even consider retaliating. Cassian takes the chance to glance back at Leeta, who still leans against the wall, eyes closed. For a moment, Cassian thinks she’s gone, slipped away when no one was paying attention, but then her eyes crack open to slits. Seconds later, they fly wide open and she gasps, eyes staring at something over Cassian’s shoulder.

 

He curses, whirling around to see a Stormtrooper, who’d managed to sneak up on them during his comrades’ heavy cover-fire. The Trooper’s gun aims right for Cassian’s head, and there’s no way either he or Schaeli can react quickly enough to prevent the inevitable. Cassian doesn’t even have time to apologize to Jyn for not keeping his promise, when the telltale noise of a blaster discharging and the corresponding flash of light causes him to flinch, expecting oblivion. But no bolt hits him, instead the Trooper collapses to the ground.

 

Schaeli stares, as shocked as Cassian. When he analyzes the angles, he ascertains that the shot came from off to his left where the alley is blocked with the six foot wall of rubble. Standing atop the wall, partially shielded by more rubble, Han Solo smirks down at Cassian, gun drawn, before dropping to the ground beside him.

 

Cassian stares at him in disbelief, because only Solo could be _smug_ amidst Imperial fire—which has momentarily stopped. Then he shouts, “I thought I told you to stay on the ship!”

 

“Yeah, well,” Solo replies flippantly, “I’ve never been very good at taking orders. Besides, I’m a rebel now, isn’t this what you wanted? Me rebelling?”

 

“This is not what I meant!”

 

“Hey! I just saved your life!” Solo points out, putting his hand to his own chest in an ‘I’m wounded’ gesture. “A little gratitude would be—”

 

Cassian reaches up and grabs his arm, yanking him down to the ground behind their shield, just as the Imperials recover from their shock and open fire. The space where Solo had been standing moments before is the target of their wrath.

 

“Thank you, and you’re welcome,” Cassian hisses out between gritted teeth.

 

“What a lovely reunion,” Schaeli calls sarcastically, a brief smile flitting onto her face before ducking out to fire, then returning to her previous position, “but could we get back to the task at hand? I would like to get my partner out of here as quickly as possible.”

 

Cassian glares at Solo before jerking his thumb at Schaeli. “What she said.”

 

“Jeez, save a man’s life and all he does is growl at you,” Solo complains, before rising to a crouch and peering over the wall.

 

With the three of them working together, they dispatch the Imperial soldiers quickly.

 

“That’s the last of ‘em,” Solo declares as the final soldier falls.

 

“That’s the last of that _squad_ ,” Cassian corrects. “There will be more. We need to get out of here.”

 

Schaeli nods. “No arguments here.”

 

Cassian turns to the object in their path and grimaces. Getting Leeta over that six foot barrier—not to mention himself when he only has one good arm—is not going to be easy. But they will do it; he’s not going to leave anyone behind. “Solo, Schaeli, climb up there. You grab Leeta from above and pull her up, I’ll push from below.”

 

Without argument—for once—Solo moves to follow orders and scrambles up the wall.

 

Schaeli crouches down in front of Leeta and tenderly cups her face. “Hey, I love you, you know that?”

 

Despite the blood dripping from the side of her mouth, Leeta smiles contentedly back at her and nods.

 

“We’re getting out of here,” Schaeli tells her determinedly, before slipping under one of her shoulders and pulling her partner to her feet.

 

They stagger to the wall, where Cassian takes over helping to support Leeta as Schaeli vaults nimbly up its side. She then turns and both she and Solo lean down, reaching for Leeta’s outstretched arms. They grab hold and begin lifting, Cassian doing his best to lift from below with only one functioning arm.

 

Leeta cries out as the position pulls on her fractured ribcage, when all of a sudden her cry is cut off by a blaster bolt striking her in the back. Schaeli and Solo both lose their grip on the woman’s arms and Cassian is powerless to stop her fall. She crashes back on top of him, knocking them both to the ground.

 

“NO!” Schaeli screams. “LEETA!!” before both she and Solo are forced to drop out of sight behind the wall as more Imperial fire targets them.

 

Cassian and Leeta land behind the makeshift shield they’d been using previously, protected from the fire, but that is their only stroke of luck. Immediately, Cassian wriggles out from beneath Leeta and crouches down, turning her on her side in order to assess the wound. What he sees makes his heart fall.

 

“Nnnn,” Leeta groans, eyes wide and wild. One of her arms flails upwards, desperate for something to hold onto and Cassian quickly catches it, squeezing her hand tightly. “Please,” she gasps, eyes piercing his. “Please no, no no no, I don’t want to die!”

 

Cassian’t heart aches for her. There’s no question that blast sealed her fate.

  
“N-n-n-o,” she wheezes desperately, “I’m not ready!”

 

Cassian can just barely hear both Schaeli and Solo shout their names, as the hellfire the Imperial troops rain down upon their position nearly drowns their voices. He tunes them out, leaning closer to Leeta, listening only to the dying woman’s words; it’s all he can do. There’s no comfort he can provide, no words that will heal mind or body, or chase the fear away. All he can do is sit there and give Leeta his full attention, letting her know by his presence and focus that she is not alone.

  
Leeta closes her eyes and screams out, “SCHAELI!!”

 

Her cry cuts to his core and he tightens his grip on her hand. The pressure seems to anchor her, snapping her out of her daze. Her eyes open, clear and calm for the first time since he’d met her. Her breathing evens out, the desperation leaves her body, the pain lines begin fading. She fixates on him and he returns her stare, holding nothing back.

 

A small smile slips onto her face. It’s peaceful and tranquil. “I love her,” she murmurs, voice quiet but strong, without a trace of tremor or doubt. “Tell her,” she pleads, tightening her grip on his hand. “She’s my light. In this beautiful galaxy of stars, she’s the brightest and strongest of them all. Always has been. Please tell her.”

 

“I will,” he promises.

 

She sighs contentedly. “Thank you.”

 

His mother once told him that there’s a light that slowly leaves the eyes as a person dies, the light of their soul joining the fabric of the world, joining the Force, but he’s learned through experience that that is nothing more than a white lie told to a frightened child in an effort to comfort him. Cassian’s seen enough death to know that there’s no sign in someone’s eyes that they’re dying. It happens in an instant. One moment they’re there, the next they’re gone. Their body and eyes vacant.

 

Leeta’s eyes remain fixed on Cassian’s face, but she’s no longer there.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter deals with a somewhat detailed account of a character's death. It's not graphic in gore or anything, but in the spirit of what is happening. It's necessary to the plot and other characters' arcs, which is why I've included it. If you truly want to avoid it, skip from the sentence "She and Solo are forced to drop out of sight behind the wall as more Imperial fire targets them" to the sentence "A small smile slips onto her face. It’s peaceful and tranquil."  
> That will allow you to skip some sadness but still keep the spirit of the content.
> 
> *
> 
> Author's Note: Eeep! I'm sorry! I really am! I swear her death is for plot reasons. I tend not to like it when authors create a character only to die, and I realize that's exactly what I just did... Sorry! I honestly started to like her as I was writing this and the previous chapter, and was almost not going to kill her off because of that, but it had always been my intention to kill her, so I tried to tone back some of her character so I (and perhaps you) wouldn't get as attached to her...  
> And I am not done torturing poor Cassian...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am going to be unable to post an update at my usual time this week (Sunday) therefore, instead of posting late, I am posting early! Happy Friday!
> 
> Since it's a short chapter, I may try to squeeze another update in tomorrow...

The moment the _Millennium Falcon_ flies out of Echo Base, disappearing into the bleak white world of Hoth, Jyn does not sit idly by, twiddling her thumbs waiting for its return. Instead, she turns on her heel and races for where she thinks Leia might be. She arrives just as Major Yakut finishes shouting his outrage at the fact that a ship had just departed on an unsanctioned mission with a very low chance of success, one that Leia couldn’t _possibly_ sign off on.

 

Jyn stops in the doorway, folds her arms and smirks, settling in for the fireworks.

 

Leia glances at Jyn when she arrives, meeting eyes with her over Yakut’s shoulder and nodding, then crosses her arms and returns her attention to the angry rebel in front of her, gaze cool. “Major Yakut,” she replies evenly, “if you are quite done telling me—your superior officer—what I _can’t_ do, I would be happy to tell you just what I _can_ and _will_ do.”

 

Yakut snaps his mouth shut, suitably wary of Leia’s tone.

 

“Yes, it is a dangerous mission with a low chance of success, but it is absolutely sanctioned,” Leia corrects. “Captain Andor spoke the truth when he told you that I would sign off on the mission, and I applaud the _Millennium Falcon’s_ entire crew for their bravery and determination to save their comrades. You would do well to take heed of their selfless commitment not only to the Cause, but to their fellow rebels,” she informs the Major, voice steel and eyes piercing.

 

The man shifts nervously from foot to foot, but says nothing.

 

“As to your concern that bringing three hundred or more un-vetted civilians to this base will pose a significant risk to our safety, I commend you for your concern and I hear you. Yes, I acknowledge that it is a bit of a concern and could potentially present a problem, but if we turn a blind eye to this now, when we have a real chance to stop the senseless slaughter of innocents, how would we be any better than the Empire? Inaction can be just as condemning as action.”

 

Yakut mutters something under his breath, which causes Leia to narrow her eyes.

 

“What was that, Major?” she demands sharply.

 

He clears his throat before repeating more loudly, “We’ve let the Empire bomb many other cities to oblivion, all while we stood by and did nothing. What makes this one any different besides the fact that we have a _small,”_ he stresses the word, implying the insignificance, “satellite base there and Andor has friends on it. I fear that personal ties have compromised his priorities.”

 

Her voice hardens. “I can assure you that _Captain_ Andor’s priorities are by no means compromised, Major, though I thank you very much for your concern.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “All of the other cities targeted by the Empire have either been well beyond our range—we would have arrived much too late—or too large to even begin to consider a rescue operation,” Leia explains, the edge in her voice growing sharper. “And why do you speak of loyalty as though it is something to be condemned? If we are not loyal to our own people, we are lost. What confidence can you have in a leadership that does not support you or provide back up when you’ve been put in a corner? The answer is none. So yes, it is a risk, but like I said, it is a risk worth taking.”

 

She pauses, giving Yakut time to jump in if he has more counterarguments, but he just stands there, staring at his toes, suitably chastised.

 

“A more concrete answer to your security concern is this: Lieutenant Erso,” Leia calls, turning to Jyn.

 

Standing to the side and watching with immense satisfaction as Leia reminds Yakut of his place and of what makes the Alliance different from the Empire, Jyn hadn’t expected she’d be called upon. Immediately, she snaps to attention. “Yes, General Organa?”

 

“Please see to it that the medical bay is prepared to receive critically injured and that our largest unused storeroom is prepared to receive less critically injured guests. Most importantly, please ensure that both the med bay and the storeroom get sealed once all of the civilians from Andelm IV arrive.”

 

“Yes ma’am.” Jyn hides a smirk. “I’ll inform the medics of the situation and we’ll coordinate our efforts.”

 

Leia meets her gaze, finally letting a small smile bleed through. “Thank you, Lieutenant Erso. It will not be the most welcoming, but it will prevent them from accessing communications devices before their allegiances can be verified. Though I doubt there will be any issue, as the entire town is—was,” she corrects herself, grimacing, “Alliance friendly and did not give away the presence of an Alliance base. Does that satisfy you, Major Yakut?”

 

“It does,” the man replies.

 

“Excellent. Thank you for prioritizing the safety of this base, but in future, broaden your perspective to the larger picture and do not let personal quarrels affect your work. Now, assist Lieutenant Erso in her task. In this matter, you answer to her.”

 

Initially, Jyn worries that Yakut will continue to act sourly, determined to cause problems, but, though it hadn’t appeared that Leia’s lecture had sunk in or that Yakut had even been listening, apparently he had been.

 

When the pair of them leave the room and Jyn orders Yakut to begin preparing the storeroom while she runs to med bay, he nods and complies without argument.

 

She finds Yevez and informs him of the situation, and he calls Cassian six different names in four different languages—one of which Jyn had never heard of—but begins barking out orders. Confident he would whip the medics into shape and get the place secured, she meets Yakut in the storeroom.

 

She finds the Major organizing a team of rebels to set up makeshift cots on one side and, working together, they manage to finish setting up the room with basic medical supplies, blankets, food and various other spare items.

 

And then, all they can do is wait.

 

*

 

Silence reigns in the communications chamber of Echo Base. Every rebel not on active duty is crammed into the large space, overflowing into the hallway outside the door, but no one makes a sound. People barely breathe.

 

Tension curdles the air and coils around Jyn’s nerves, sending a shudder down her spine. The _Millennium Falcon_ had left quite a while ago—exactly how long, she’s not sure… time’s been slipping through her grasp, too difficult to keep ahold of and concentrate on since she intercepted the Imperial frequency that sent Cassian across the galaxy, leaping into action. But even though she doesn’t know the exact number of minutes and seconds since the ship’s departure, she knows it should be back any minute… if it’s going to come back at all. By the mounting anxiety in the room, she can tell that the window of feasible return is rapidly closing, and everyone knows it. With each passing second, hearts and minds grow more tense.

 

Someone shifts from foot to foot, clothing rustling. A cough breaks the silence, quickly followed by a harsh “shhhh!”

 

This is a momentous occasion. Not quite an _if-we-don’t-succeed-we’ll-die_ situation, not like Scarif or the run on the Death Star, but it’s a desperate moment. A crucial one. Losing an entire base—no matter how small—to the Empire because of the Imperials’ dumb luck would be devastating. All personnel, numerous civilian supporters, ships… the numbers would be small, but the blow to morale would be staggering.

 

Not many rebels in the communications room on Hoth have a friend on Andelm IV, but those who do clench their hands extra tightly, just as Jyn does. It’s not just Cassian she fears for, but Baze and Chirrut as well.

 

Jyn glances sideways at the person standing next to her. Unlike Jyn—who constantly shifts from foot to foot, arms crossed, fists clenching and unclenching, eyes flicking everywhere—Leia gives nothing away. She stands still, shoulders loose, hands clasped behind her back, feet braced apart, eyes staring resolutely at the radar.

 

Jyn doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that means Leia isn’t equally as worried, that she’s unaware of how vital this mission is, of how demoralizing it has the potential to be, just that she’s better at hiding it.

 

Jyn imagines that the contrast between the two of them reflects their different backgrounds. Jyn has always been prone to movement, action and fierce intensity, stemming from her upbringing with Saw, where survival relied on alertness and mobility.

 

Leia, on the other hand… well, Jyn honestly doesn’t know a lot about Leia’s past. Leia is the Princess of Alderaan— _or should that be was the Princess, now that Alderaan is gone?_ Jyn thinks to herself silently, desperate for anything to take her mind off of the wait—and that childhood probably brought with it certain expectations for political poise and cunning, which is probably what led Leia to have such an impenetrable outward mask. But Jyn won’t jump to the assumption that Leia’s royal childhood was soft and sheltered, as so many others erroneously conclude. A soft and sheltered past would not lead to this pillar of strength and outward calm that stands beside her now. Jyn often has to remind herself that, despite the way Leia commands with the confidence and experience of one much older, Leia is three years her junior.

 

She hopes that one day she’ll be able to see past Leia’s walls, that they’ll be close enough to consider themselves sisters. Leia is such an incredible force who Jyn finds herself admiring. Admiring her determination and leadership.

 

Little does she know that beside her, Leia is thinking the exact same thing of Jyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leia's rank is never explicitly stated in the original trilogy, I don't believe, but some research seems to show that though she is not officially part of the military-like ranking of the Alliance, her status as a diplomat and her position within the Alliance would grant her General-like status. Therefore, she's a General in my world.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And why not. Here's another chapter!

Cassian sits for a moment, surrounded by dust and blood, hand still clutching Leeta’s. Finally, he lets her hand go. He lets _her_ go. Lifting his head to take in the situation, his sight falters for a moment, blurring. At first he thinks it’s tears that are clouding his vision, grief for a life lost so senselessly, but when he shifts to a crouch and loses his balance, falling to his knees, he realizes it’s something worse. _I know my shoulder’s bleeding more than I thought, but I didn’t think it was bleeding that badly…_

 

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head of dizziness. As it finally fades and his senses return, with it returns the pain. Both shoulders scream at him; his left spasms uncontrollably, muscles clenching and exacerbating the excruciating pain, while his right twinges and pulses in time with his rapidly beating heart.

 

His ribs and torso feel terrible, much worse than he thought they would from Baze’s rough treatment that saved his life, and he wonders if his back was struck when his shoulder was, and he just didn’t notice it due to the overwhelming dislocation. He remembers feeling a pinch in his back, but no significant impact… his eyes close and he thinks back. The last time he’d felt something similar was when he’d sparred with Chirrut and the other man had dealt a blow to his back, right on a kidney.

 

_Did that happen again? Was Chirrut fighting dirty?_ his confused mind wonders, suddenly forgetting the situation he’s in, too wrapped up and lost in memories. He opens his eyes and frowns in confusion, taking in the surroundings—which share no similarity to the icy world of Hoth—and tries to remember how he got here. _No,_ he frowns, _it can’t have been Chirrut. We haven’t sparred in months, not since I assigned them to that tiny base…_ he thinks sluggishly, before his mind snaps back into place and the details align. _Andelm IV. Eldian Base. Ships falling. Need to get back to the Falcon._

 

_Hold it together, Cassian,_ he admonishes himself. _You have a promise to keep._

 

Disconcerted by his temporary confusion and realizing that it means his brain’s functionality is decreasing frighteningly rapidly, he puts every effort into focusing on the moment and situation at hand, in order to avoid getting lost in memories of the past.

 

Gradually, he becomes aware of Solo shouting at him.

 

“ANDOR! Get out of the dirt and over this wall! We’ve got to go!”

 

Looking up, Cassian sees Solo’s head clearing the wall, eyes taking in the situation—Leeta, blood, death—while returning fire at the Imperial squadron. Schaeli’s there as well, her face set in a mask of stone, eyes not looking at the prone body next to Cassian and instead focusing on the enemy with cold intensity.

 

Given the blaster beams impacting the six foot wall between Cassian and the path home, he knows there is absolutely no way he can make it over without suffering Leeta’s fate, especially when he can’t move one of his arms, and the other’s mobility is swiftly declining; he’s pretty sure he can no longer raise his arm above his head.

 

_Hell._ “Get out of here, Solo!” he yells. “There’s no time! I’ll be dead before I hit the top!”

 

 “Dammit, Andor!” Does Cassian detect a hint of concern in Solo’s voice? He must have imagined it because moments later, the other man growls, “Chewie is absolutely _not_ leaving until my ass is back onboard! And—I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I’m not leaving until _your_ ass is back on board! Leia and Erso would flay me alive! So unless you want this entire mission to fail and have three hundred lives on your conscience, get the hell up and get the hell over here!”

 

_Harsh, but effective,_ Cassian allows, admiring Solo’s method. Apparently the ex-smuggler knows Cassian pretty well, because there’s absolutely no way he’ll be the reason that three hundred people make it only halfway to freedom.

 

But that still begs the question of how. The moment he leaves the cover of the rubble, he’s dead.

 

Just then, a rapid fire report of blasters deafens them, then everything goes momentarily silent.

 

“Perhaps we can lend a hand?” Baze remarks from where he’d appeared atop the wall, his Staccato Lightning canon still smoking.

 

“Quickly, Captain,” Chirrut adds from his position next to his partner, raising his lightbow to cover them. “The reprieve Baze has given us will not last long.”

 

Staggering to his feet, he races forward and hits the wall’s base. Baze sets his canon down and reaches for Cassian.

 

Biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, he raises his right arm as high as it will go, which is just above shoulder height. Baze grasps it firmly and pulls upward, grunting with the effort. Cassian’s feet scrabble on the wall, trying to find purchase in order to assist the man, even as his shoulder muscles scream at the abuse, and warm liquid spreads down his chest and back.

 

Suddenly, Chirrut and Schaeli fire simultaneously, with unerring aim.

 

“We are out of time, Captain.”

 

Cassian’s only halfway up the wall and he’s helpless to do more, his life in Baze’s hands. The former guardian locks eyes with Cassian and strengthens his grip, lifting him the final few feet with a yell. Baze’s hand never lets go of Cassian’s as he lands at the top, which is fortunate because if he had, Cassian would have gone tumbling down the pile of rubble on the other side, impacting with the ground and causing himself untold damage to his already injured body. Instead, the larger man keeps hold of his hand and grabs his upper arm as well, helping Cassian maintain his balance as they both slip and slide to the ground.

 

Behind him, Chirrut, Schaeli and Solo all follow him down the wall and take off in the direction of the _Falcon,_ racing a clock that’s ticks are marked by falling ships and encroaching enemies. Cassian doesn’t spare a glance to look up at the sky—too focused on putting one foot in front of the other—but he knows there can’t be many rebel Fighter’s left, if any. By now, the only thing keeping them from incineration and destruction is the Empire’s own arrogance; the town is clearly done for, already Imperial officers are probably congratulating themselves on a job well done. They feel no urgency to start the bombardment that will turn this place to dust, but Cassian knows it’s coming any minute.

 

As they run towards freedom, towards hope, towards the promise of _home,_ towards his promise to Jyn, Baze stays by Cassian’s side. The other three outpace them somewhat, but Baze does not leave him. The older man hovers just beside Cassian’s right elbow, never touching him, but any time Cassian falters or slows, Baze slows right along with him. He is obviously hesitant to offer assistance, as the usual method of assistance involves putting the injured person’s arm over the uninjured person’s shoulder. But seeing as both of Cassian’s shoulders are in bad shape—a fact that Baze’s sharp eyes picked up on when he lifted Cassian over the wall—means that avenue of aid is not appealing.

 

However, when Cassian’s knee almost gives out on him, he thinks, _To hell with it! Better to be alive with ruined shoulders than cut to pieces by Star Destroyers!_ He throws his right arm towards Baze, hoping he has enough strength left to grab on, hoping Baze does not take offence at his presumption, because he has no breath left to ask. He needn’t have feared; the moment he reaches towards Baze, the other man snatches onto his arm and pulls it over his broad shoulders, slipping his other around Cassian’s waist to support him. Immediately, Cassian feels a difference and can move more easily. He still can’t figure out why his legs are so weak—frankly it worries him—but he shoves away that dangerous thought, refusing to let his brain get lured into memories and lose itself to confusion, as he had earlier.

 

Their speed doubles and, moments later, the open loading ramp of the _Falcon_ comes into view. Schaeli disappears up the ramp, but both Chirrut and Solo stop at its base and turn, waiting for Cassian and Baze.

 

A whine pierces the air as the _Falcon’s_ engines power up, and it begins to life off of the ground, door still open. Cassian and Baze lunge the last few steps and the two men waiting for them help heave them up the two foot gap between the ground and the ramp.

 

The moment all of their feet are on the ship’s ramp, Solo bellows, “CHEWIE!! GET US THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”

 

The door snaps shut, sending them stumbling into the hallway, which is littered with injured, both standing and strewn about the floor. All of the passengers are almost sent to their knees when the ship rocks side to side, rising in the air. Those who stand near a wall brace against it and hold out their arms as anchors for those who have nothing to hold onto.

 

“Make a hole, people!!” Solo shouts, pushing through the throng and towards the ship’s cockpit. “Pilot coming through!”

 

People press to either side of the corridor, leaving a small gap in the middle that Solo sprints through.

 

Cassian moves to follow, but Baze stops him. “Here is a perfectly good place to be, Little Brother. You’ve done your part, let Solo and Chewbacca do theirs.”

 

Cassian sighs. “I would like nothing more than to collapse on the floor here,” he mutters before he can stop himself, shocked that he voiced that aloud, before he plunges on in the hopes of covering up his admission, “but that idiot hero can’t remember his codes to save his life, and unlike here where he was able to squirm his way around them, he’s going to need them when we enter Hoth. Therefore, I will provide them.”

 

Baze purses his lips before nodding reluctantly. He slips Cassian’s arm from his shoulders and gestures for the captain to go first, as it’s too narrow for them to go side by side. Slowly but steadily, Cassian follows Solo, cradling his left arm as best he can in order to avoid jostling it. It’s a futile effort, though, and every twinge causes him to grind his teeth in order to avoid crying out.

 

Despite the unsteadiness of the ship, he never falls to his knees, a fact of which he’s grateful. If he did, he is positive he would never make it back to his feet. Every time the ship jerks—dodging a TIE Fighter blast or weaving through Star Destroyers, Cassian doesn’t know—Baze’s hands shoot out from behind him and grasp either side of his torso, staying clear of his shoulders but holding him steady.

 

When Cassian glances over his shoulder to see how _Baze_ manages to stay upright, he sees the man’s feet are braced wide, but more importantly, one of Chirrut’s arms wraps about Baze while the other holds onto a bar on the wall. The two work as a perfect team, a partnership that’s stood for ages, faced the test of time and laughed in its face. Cassian nods to the two former guardians gratefully, breath for words failing him.

 

As they continue their slow trek forward, the people around him begin to recognize his face. Some know him because they are fellow rebels, others he met months ago when he aided in Eldian Base’s set up, and a handful probably recognize him from when he burst into the warehouse with the announcement that the _Millennium Falcon_ was there to take them to freedom.

 

A stir goes through the crowd and a hand reaches out towards him, a gesture of thanks when words cannot suffice, but all Cassian sees is that the hand is headed directly for his dislocated shoulder. He sees the impending impact, but is too tired to jerk out of the way.

 

But another hand, larger and more calloused, intercepts the civilian’s hand, catching it gently and halting its collision course. “Mind his shoulders, please,” Baze’s deep voice commands, but not unkindly.

 

The hand retreats, immediately replaced by murmurs of thanks all around him, for his, Chirrut and Baze’s actions.

 

As he winds his way slowly through the crowd of gratitude, of living people, people who would not be alive otherwise, he knows everything—the pain, the fear, the danger—was worth it. If Solo and Chewbacca can get them out of here, if the _Millennium Falcon_ safely clears the clutches of the Empire, then he’ll celebrate it. If there’s hell to pay when he gets home, he’ll take it. If he has to personally background check and clear every single person on this ship to make sure they don’t pose a threat to the Alliance or reveal Hoth’s location, he’ll do it. If he’s demoted, reprimanded or stripped of his rank, he’ll grit his teeth and bear it. Because saving these people, giving them a new home, new hope, and a new chance… that is priceless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yay! They've made it! But it's not all a picnic from here... nope. Not at all.
> 
> As much as I wanted to, I couldn't let Cassian get left behind... as delicious a story as that would be, it would be kind of difficult for him to survive the bombardment, and the Imperial soldiers on the ground would have no reason to capture him instead of kill him, since they don't know who he is. To them, he's just another civilian or maybe even a rebel, but they don't know how high up he is. In my world, the Empire still doesn't know his face (as I mentioned in A Rebel of Steel), and that's all I'm going to say on that at the moment, because it actually comes up later in the story...
> 
> Also, side note, I looked again at the blurb that describes this story, and realized it doesn't really do a good job. In fact, as of where we are right now, it does a very bad job... I need to think about revising it, but my summaries are always terrible anyway. The main plot line (Cassian going missing on a mission) _is_ what started this whole thing in my head (thus its prominent focus in the summary), and I swear we're getting there, it's just that a lot of plot bunnies have popped up along the way... in fact another one has just hopped into existence, one involving Leia and Jyn on a mission, so I will definitely do my best to pursue that. I probably should have split this into smaller stories within the series—still following each other successively—but ah well. Go big or go home, I guess. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Hope you enjoyed and see you next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real author's note this week, but I definitely want to say thank you to everyone for your encouragement and positive responses! It means the world to me that you are enjoying this story. Thank you! You all are amazing!

After what feels like an endless eon, which in reality is only a minute, Cassian reaches the cockpit of the _Millennium Falcon._ The chairs are already full—the sheer number of people they managed to rescue from Andelm IV means they have to spill over everywhere, even into the control center—but there’s a small patch of floor next to the wall that’s free. Cassian leans against the ship’s hull and gratefully slides to the ground, watching as the two pilots artfully navigate the minefield of Imperial ships, Solo cursing all the way.

 

A thought occurs to Cassian, something he can’t believe he almost forgot; he blames it on his deteriorating state. _And really, why am I still deteriorating?_ he wonders, but does not have the energy to try to figure it out. Instead, he focuses on something he _can_ do. “Solo,” he calls, trying to catch the pilot’s attention. His voice is so rough and quiet, he barely hears it himself.

 

“Solo,” he tries again, a little louder, and this time he’s sure the pilot should be able to hear him. But there’s no reaction.

 

Grimacing, he puts all of his strength into his lungs and tries one last time. “Solo!”

 

“WHAT?!” the smuggler-turned-rebel exclaims without turning around. “Can’t you see I’m a little busy trying to save our asses, Andor?!”

 

“The radio. If there’s anyone left,” Cassian coughs suddenly, his voice thick with a sour taste in his mouth, but he clears his throat and continues, “if anyone’s left in the sky, you need to let them know the town is evacuated. They can stop defending it and get the hell out.”

 

A headset and portable console flies back and lands in his lap. “By all means! Make yourself useful!”

 

Right hand trembling with fatigue and pain, he flips the dial to the correct frequency—a secure rebel channel—then stares at the headset in his lap, almost laughing at the fact that there’s no way he’s going to be able to put it on his head. His arms absolutely refuse to rise above chest level.

 

Suddenly, a separate set of hands comes into his field of view. They’re scarred and calloused, but nowhere near as large as Baze’s. The hands grasp the headset and carefully situate it, settling it over his ears and positioning the mic in front of his mouth. Cassian manages to draw his gaze up from his lap and meets eyes with the owner of the hands. He finds the cloudy gray-blue eyes of Chirrut, who’s crouched down in front of him. _When did he move there?_ Cassian asks himself, disturbed he hadn’t noticed the man move.

 

Chirrut’s eyes almost meet his, though they stare a little off to the right, but a smile reaches the monk’s face. Cassian manages to smile back, small and tired, and even though Chirrut’s eyes cannot see his gesture, Cassian thinks he sees it all the same.

 

He clears his throat and composes himself as best he can, strengthening his voice with the hope that his message will reach someone. _Anyone._ “All rebel Fighters, if there’s anyone out there… if there’s anyone left… this is Captain Cassian Andor, verification code ex-delta-zero-five-zero. Eldian base and the surrounding town have been evacuated. All survivors are on board the _Millennium Falcon._ ”

 

He pauses. _Well, almost all of them,_ he amends, thoughts going out to all of the poor souls hunkered down in their homes, too frightened or too stubborn to leave… to take a chance at survival, to take a chance at living. Closing his eyes, he can picture the imminent blasts about to devastate the ground. The shadow of the Star Destroyers falling over the city, blocking out the sun and casting night in the middle of the day. The temperature drop as light leaves, fleeing before the approaching death. Though the Destroyers are no Death Star, no eclipse as there was on Jedha, they are a terrifying end.

 

Cassian knows some people will look up at the ships, looking their fate dead in the eye, before closing their eyes and embracing the hellfire fate dealt them. Others will cling to one another, whispering sweet words of friendship and love, words spoken with a sincerity that only last breaths can carry. Some will weep, some will sigh, some will stand silent, but all of them will meet with the shockwaves of the Star Destroyers’ blasts.

 

He can still feel the Death Star’s shockwave racing towards Jyn and him on a beach far away, across the galaxy in another quadrant. Still feel the burn of sand grinding against his face, the rising heat of the air, the roar of a wounded world. A similar fate will befall all those still on Andelm IV. A fate he would not wish on anyone. But he cannot turn back the tide of the Empire. Maybe one day the Alliance will, but not today.

 

Opening his eyes, he offers a silent prayer for those about to meet their fate, then turns his attention to those he might still be able to reach. “We’re about to make the jump to hyperspace, so please, if you’re there, your job’s done. If anyone’s listening, thank you. You gave us the time we needed, and for many of you, it was at the cost of your own. May the Force be with you. May you make it home.”

 

He switches the radio off and just lets it sit in his lap, leaving the headset alone, until the same hands reach out and carefully remove both from him.

 

“Thank you, Chirrut,” he murmurs.

 

“It is but a small gesture, Captain. Now rest,” the older man orders him gently but firmly. “Let others carry the burden from here.”

 

Cassian shakes his head, wincing as it jostles his shoulders. “The codes—” he starts, trying to explain why he cannot rest.

 

Chirrut does not let him finish. “If that fool of a rebel who calls himself a Captain and his honorable companion the Wookie cannot remember the codes, I will personally wake you,” he promises, tone indicating that the matter is now closed.

 

Cassian sees there’s no point in arguing with the man, and he can already feel exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. Leaning his head back against the wall, he finally lets the fatigue and pain overwhelm him, eyes slowly slipping closed. But even as the agony he’s been ignoring ever since the TIE Fighter crashed over him comes roaring back, consuming his mind and limbs, he smiles. Because just before his eyes close and he surrenders to oblivion, he sees the stars outside the cockpit’s windows blur into streaming lines, and feels the ship rocket forward into safety.

 

*

 

In the depths of Echo Base, a shout breaks the silence.

 

“There! Four ships! On the radar! They just exited hyperspace!” Bodhi exclaims, eyes riveted on the monitor.

 

The next few moments last a lifetime, waiting… waiting… then static on the radio, an indiscernible mumbling, swearing, the word “codes,” and finally, “Echo Base this is the _Millennium Falcon,_ clearance code seventeen-tee-ex-eye-eight-zero-two-nine.” There’s a pause, during which a grumbled, “what a mouthful,” can be heard distantly, before the voice is back in full strength. “We’re returning from Eldian Base of Andelm IV, requesting entrance through the shields and into a hangar. I have three rebel X-Wings with me, survivors from Andelm, but I’ll let them give you their own damn codes.”

 

The entire room breaks out in deafening cheers, nearly drowning out Bodhi’s reply. “ _Millennium Falcon_ this is Echo Base. Shields will be dropped momentarily, please proceed to Hangar Two, Bay Two, where personnel will be ready to receive you.”

 

“Make sure there are a _lot_ of personnel. And a lot of medics,” the voice of Han Solo orders, “because we’ve got a _hell_ of a lot of people on board.”

 

A mountain of unspoken information is conveyed with that single, slightly terse order. The fact that they have numerous people on board means that they’d at least been partially successful in their evacuation of the town, but the fact that he demanded medics means a significant amount are injured and implies that not everyone made it. His terse tone indicates the mission was not all together agreeable, but of course, how could it be. Still, they’ve made it back and the presence of the three X-Wings is heartening as well.

 

“Copy that, Captain Solo,” Bodhi replies. “We anticipated your situation and have medics standing by, waiting to greet you.”

 

The communication ends and people begin flowing out of the room, either returning to their assigned posts or going to the hangar that would soon receive the _Falcon._

When Jyn arrives in Hangar Two, what seems like half the base crowds the area, keeping to the edges in order to stay out of the way and allow the returning ship to land. Amongst the crowd, she immediately spies the hulking figure of K2, and the slightly less hulking—but still formidable—figure of Vorin Yevez beside him.

 

Shouldering her way through the crowd, she makes her way to them and catches Yevez’s eye. “Give me a job,” she demands, knowing that, as Lead Medic, he will be in charge of this massive unloading operation.

 

His eyes show relief when he sees her, before his mouth sets in a grim line. “I’m short staffed right now—I certainly don’t have enough medics to treat and receive more than three hundred people.” He runs his hands through his short blond hair, causing it to stick up wildly in every direction. “We can only take so many in the med bay, the rest will have to go directly to the storeroom with rudiment treatment and await further aide. There’s not a lot of people I would trust to make decisions on which patients are critical and which are not, but you’re one of them,” he tells her honestly. “I need you to assess people and decide if they need to go to med bay for immediate treatment, or if they can wait a while and survive off of less professional, more patchwork treatment in the storeroom.”

 

She nods, appreciative of his trust in her. She is not looking forward to the task—the weight of prioritizing someone’s life over another’s settles on her shoulders—but she’s prepared to do what is necessary.

 

“I know you’ve seen your fair share of injuries and the physical backlash of war,” he continues. “There will be borderline cases that will be hard calls, but you know what you’re doing. I have every confidence you’ll execute your task efficiently and effectively, but I’m sorry to place it on your shoulders, on anyone’s shoulders but my own,” he murmurs, eyes flickering with old ghosts that still haunt his footsteps.

 

She places a hand on his elbow and shakes her head. “We all must do our part, Yevez. Some of us walk a more difficult path, but we don’t walk it alone. Now stiffen your spine and get out that bossy voice of yours. The one that I so despise.”

 

He nods in gratitude for her reassurance, and smirks a little at her verbal jab, then steps forward and turns to those gathered around them, raising his voice and commanding, “Listen up, everyone!”

 

Immediately, silence falls.

 

“There’s going to be a rush of people exiting the ship the moment the door is down!” he yells loudly. “Yes, they’re safe, but there are going to be people still in survival mode who are going to try to get out of there as quickly as possible. As far as their concerned, that place could be their floating coffin. Do not, I repeat, do _not_ try to stop them!” he orders, surveying the room and letting his gaze pierce its occupants to emphasize his point.

 

“Sadly, most of you know what it’s like to go through this kind of trauma, to nearly meet death but dodge it at the last second. So it shouldn’t be hard for you to understand that the _last_ thing these people need is someone trapping them or ordering them around! Let them exit. If they’re walking on their own, chances are that they’re well enough to go to the storeroom prepared for them, not med bay. In that case, gently funnel them in that direction! Yes, it is imperative that they go there, yes, it is essentially an order, but don’t make it _sound_ like an order. Most of these people aren’t rebels and aren’t used to a command structure. They won’t necessarily take kindly to it.”

 

He pauses, runs his hands through his hair again, further scattering the strands and making it messy. “After the first rush, it’s going to get trickier to figure out who needs to go where! In that case, you are to listen and defer to myself, Medics Gara and Losci, as well as Major Brand and Lieutenant Erso.” He points to each person as he names them. “Am I clear?”

 

Nods meet his statement.

 

“He does have a rather bossy voice,” K2 agrees from his position beside Jyn.

 

She grins up at the droid, then frowns as she realizes something. “Uhm, K2, it might be best if you… weren’t here for this,” she tells him.

 

He gazes down at her, and she can almost see the frown on his face manifesting in the position of his head. “And why might that be? My circuits are not prone to over excitement or faintness at the sight of gruesome scenes, unlike beings who rely on veins to circulate their blood,” he states rather primly.

 

“Yes,” Jyn agrees, “but you do have an outward appearance that is prone to be interpreted as ‘Empire’ and ‘enemy’ by those who do not know any better. The people coming off of the _Falcon_ have just had a rather bad experience with the Empire and might shoot first and ask questions later,” she explains.

 

There’s a beat of silence, then he states, “And you don’t want them to miss and hit you,” humor clear in his voice.

 

Jyn nearly falls to the ground at his choice of words, because he _can’t_ remember her telling him that on Jedha. His backups were made from before then, which means he doesn’t have the memories of that exchange, or of her less than friendly, I’m-only-looking-out-for-myself-and-screw-the-Alliance attitude. Which makes his statement one hell of a coincidence, but one that really hits home to her just how far they’ve come. A few months ago, he would never have _teased_ her, because unfortunately, he also doesn’t have the memories of their positive interactions leading up to and on Scarif. The start of their friendship.

 

Which makes his comment truly momentous. Given his suspicious nature, after he got rebooted, it had taken him a while to warm up to her. She knows their relationship has grown more and more over the past few months, but she hadn’t realized just how much. His teasing comment is so clearly one shared between friends, nothing like the sarcastic comments he throws at anyone he considers outside of his circle of trust (of course, he still gives Cassian plenty of snark, but his tone is completely different, something he saves only for his partner). Jyn’s fairly certain this is the final turning point in hers and the droid’s friendship.

 

She clears her throat and replies honestly, instead of matching his teasing with one of her own, “No, I’m worried they’ll aim true and hit you.”

 

He stares at her in silence, clearly caught off guard by her candor, before looking away and nodding. “I see your point, Jyn.” He turns to leave and throws over his shoulder, “I’ll be back when my appearance will cause less of a stir.”

 

She feels sorry for him, as he no doubt wishes he’d gone on the mission to Andelm IV, just as she does. Only he didn’t get an explanation as to why Cassian didn’t ask him to come, and she did.

 

Just then, the hangar door opens to a blast of white light and a swirl of snow, through which the _Millennium Falcon_ emerges, humming a greeting. It touches down and Jyn steels herself for what is to come. For the carnage, for the desolate eyes, for the hope, for the wait she’ll endure until she finally learns if Baze and Chirrut made it back… if Cassian kept his promise and made it home.

 

But until that moment, until she sees their faces—she prays to the Force that she won’t see them lying on the floor of the ship, bloodied and bruised, eyes open and vacant—she has a job to do. She has countless people to help, people who were caught up in this vicious, brutal galactic struggle that takes lives, takes families and tears them apart, takes prisoners and doesn’t let them go, and does not discriminate between innocent and guilty.

 

The _Falcon’s_ vents release, filling the space beneath the ship with white steam, then the tell-tale mechanical release whirrs as the loading ramp slowly lowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close! They're almost reunited... We're almost there!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guess what. I'm back! And it's a Sunday, so I'm posting on schedule, just months and months and MONTHS too late. A thousand apologies! Life... well, life got busy. But I am back and here for the long haul so here we go again. 
> 
> A word of warning that this chapter does contain some descriptions of injury and blood. Unfortunately there's not really any way to avoid it, given the nature of this chapter (dealing with the aftermath of Andelm IV), and I've tried to keep it mild, but it is there so please be aware.
> 
> As always, thank you ever so much for your comments and feedback! They keep me motivated and it's wonderful to hear that others share my deep love for these characters. Happy reading!

The ship settles to the ground and Cassian can hear people crying in relief. A moment later, he realizes that everyone in the ship is about to race for the doors, including the civilians crammed into the cockpit… and he’s sitting on the floor. It’s unlikely he’ll remain unscathed in their blind rush for safety, for an escape, and it’s too late for him to even contemplate moving. But as the horde of people surge forward, bottlenecking at the door from the cockpit to the hallway, two figures stand above him, unmoving guardians. They gently steer people through the door and away from him.

 

 _What did I ever do to deserve friends like these?_ He thinks the answer is nothing, he has not done enough, but Baze and Chirrut apparently disagree.

 

As people empty from the cockpit, leaving just Cassian, Baze, Chirrut, Solo and Chewbacca, the two pilots finally rise from their chairs.

 

“I’d better get out there and make sure nobody messes up my ship,” Solo mutters, casting a quick look at Cassian before disappearing into the hallway. “Chewie! You coming?” his voice echoes back.

 

The Wookie moves to follow his partner, moaning softly as he walks by.

 

Cassian smiles. “Thanks, Chewbacca. You too.”

 

Chirrut follows the Wookie out of the cockpit and Cassian shifts slightly, preparing to follow.

 

“And just where do you think you are going?” Baze’s deep voice demands.

 

Blinking in surprise—Cassian had honestly thought the man had followed Chirrut out, but apparently his brain is still playing tricks on him—he replies, “There are a lot of people who need help back there.” He jerks his head towards the depths of the _Falcon_.

 

“That there are,” Baze agrees, “but _you,_ Little Brother, are staying here. You’ve done enough; let others take it from here.”

 

Cassian opens his mouth to argue, but Baze cuts him off with a resolute, “No.” The older man frowns down at him, concern clear in his eyes, before pointing at him, “You,” then pointing at the floor, “Stay,” he orders firmly.

 

If Cassian didn’t feel like his ability to stand was questionable, he might have argued. But since he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t make it vertical if he tried, he instead chooses to sit back and be amused by the fact that he’s being ordered like some tauntaun.

 

Baze nods. “As soon as some people have cleared out, I’ll send someone for you,” he promises, then exits, leaving Cassian alone.

 

*

 

True to Yevez’s prediction, the moment the ramp hits the ground of Echo Base, people in varying states of panic and suffering flood down it. Some cling to one another, some rely on others to help them move, but all show signs of battle scars… the scars of survivors. Some visible, some physical, some hidden in their gazes. Eyes flick wildly, some stare dully.

 

The first wave is met by rebels, who sweep forward and welcome the civilians with open arms and voices, gently guiding them towards their new quarters. Most who make it down the ramp in the first few minutes are well enough to go without immediate medical attention, but Jyn halts one duo carrying a man between them. She checks the man’s pulse, opens his eyelids to unresponsive pupils, assesses his gray pallor and red-soaked shirt, and quickly makes a decision.

 

“Hey, you two!” she yells at two nearby rebels. “Grab a stretcher and help this man to the med bay!”

 

She turns back to the two people holding the injured man upright. “We’ll take it from here. I have to ask that you let us escort him while you follow those people,” she gestures to the horde filing out of the hangar, headed towards storeroom-turned-living quarters. “We’re swamped and there’s just not enough room for you in med bay.”

 

One of the injured man’s companions meets her gaze with wide eyes. “No, please, please we have to stay with him!” he exclaims.

 

“There’s just not enough room,” she informs him regretfully.

 

“No, you don’t understand!” the other companion cries, panic lacing her voice. “Our parents didn’t… we’re all each other has left, please, you can’t take him from us…”

 

The desperation and obvious love in both the brother and sister’s voice strikes a chord with Jyn. She can’t help but think that, if their roles were reversed, if it were she struggling to keep a loved one, a sibling alive, she would not want to be separated… too afraid they’d slip from her fingertips and die while she was not with them.

 

Her mind flashes to a time when she _was_ struggling to keep someone alive, to keep Cassian alive. In the belly of a cargo shuttle filled with the rattle of dying breaths and the scent of too much blood, she’d allowed their separation to occur. Too shell shocked, too new to their tentative friendship, evolved from reluctant teammates to indispensable comrades. If that happened now? She would raise hell and fire if someone tried to separate them.

 

She relents. “Stay with him. But keep out of _everyone’s_ way and if a single medic says you need to leave, then leave that instant. Or I’ll come find you and kick you out into the snow,” she threatens. “We’re trying to help as many of you as we can; we don’t need people mucking about and making it more difficult for everyone.”

 

The relief and gratitude in both of their eyes is enough to make it worth it, but she dearly hopes they take her words to heart and don’t cause any trouble.

 

Task accomplished, she continues through the sea of people to the ramp of the _Falcon_ , making her way into the ship. She immediately turns right, goes past the corridor to the cockpit and heads for the main living area. She hears banging below her feet and is momentarily confused, before she realizes that people have even scrambled into the smuggling compartments and are now desperately trying to get out. But with so many people still in the ship, there’s not enough floor space for the hatches to open yet. Though she wants to help them, she leaves the task for someone else. Instead, she works her way farther into the ship, eyes roving and constantly assessing each person as she moves along, all the while searching for three familiar faces. Faces she doesn’t see anywhere.

 

The interior of the ship accosts her with noise and the stench of panic, fear and blood. Despite the number of people that have already exited the ship, inside it is still crowded. She marvels at just how many people there still are on board, strewn about the halls and rooms, unable—or unwilling—to move. She can only imagine what it looked like, what it _felt_ like when everyone was still on board. How closely packed some areas were, how claustrophobic it must have been. She can’t exactly blame the people who fled the confining space at their first chance.

 

Picking her way carefully though the twisted limbs, oozing wounds and broken spirits, she crouches beside a man leaning against the wall, clutching at his stomach, blood running down the side of his face.

 

“Welcome to Echo Base,” she greets, trying to elicit a response from his glazed eyes. “My name’s Jyn. Can you tell me yours?”

 

The man’s eyes give no indication that he’s heard. Giving up on shaking him from his stupor, Jyn prods at the laceration on his head, before gently moving the man’s hands from his stomach. She’s surprised to find no blood there, except for a small amount transferred from the man’s head wound. She gently palpates the man’s torso, apologizing for the intrusion under her breath, and when he reacts immediately by gasping, she frowns. Raising his shirt just enough to glimpse the skin over his stomach, she inhales sharply when she sees dark black bruising.

 

“I need a stretcher!” she yells out loudly, hoping to grab someone’s attention. “This person needs to go to med bay!”

 

Two people quickly answer her call and load the man onto a stretcher, before carting him away.

 

Jyn moves on to another patient, then another… then another. Solo’s loud voice catches her attention at one point—though she doesn’t see him—but never the three quiet voices her ears so desperately long to hear.

 

When she’s almost finished in the main common area, she hears a commotion behind her and turns to see an injured woman pushing a young rebel away, shouting that she needs to get out.

 

Jyn rushes to the rebel’s aid. “I’ll take it from here,” she tells the young Ensign, who nods with frightened eyes and scurries away.

 

The distressed woman tries to rise from the floor, but Jyn places a restraining hand on her shoulder. A sizeable gash to her forehead is the likely reason she hasn’t been trouble before now—she’d probably been unconscious. But what worries Jyn more is the fact that there’s a piece of what looks to be glass embedded in the woman’s arm, near the crook of her elbow, and Jyn doesn’t want her to move, lest she cause the class to shift and nick the artery she knows is in that area.

 

“N-n-no, I hafta, I hafta,” the woman protests, struggling against her, “I hafta go! I hafta get out!”

 

“I understand, but you can’t go anywhere—” she tries to explain, only to receive a thump from a flailing arm in gratitude.

 

“I can and I will!” the woman exclaims, shifting forward onto her knees, oblivious to the peril she’s putting herself in.

 

With the rate at which the situation is deteriorating and spiraling out of control, Jyn does the only thing she can think of to snap the woman out of her frenzy: she surprises her. By slapping her. Hard. And yelling.

 

“Listen up, halfwit!” she growls, putting her face close to the woman’s in order to focus the patient’s entire attention on her. “If you move, you are very likely going to slice open an artery in your arm and bleed to death before the medics of the Alliance can help you! And then all of this will have been for nothing! You’ll have survived an Imperial bombardment only to be cut down by your own stupidity! So unless you want to go down in history with that as the action people remember you by, shut up, pay attention and sit down!”

 

The woman’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes clear with surprise, sheepishness and a hint of gratitude, and she slowly shifts back to lean against the wall.

 

So of course, that’s when the glass nicks her artery and blood spurts out, striking Jyn on the face. She flinches in surprise, before leaping forward and clamping her hand on the wound. “Kriff!”

 

Her hand is absolutely useless against an arterial bleed. Blood effortlessly squeezes out from between her fingers, mocking her attempt to save the woman’s life. “I need help! I need a medic!”

 

When no one comes running, she makes a snap decision and carefully pulls the glass from the woman’s arm. It’s already done as much damage as it can, and the only way she can possibly save her life is through a desperate gamble. She dearly hopes it pays off.

 

The woman begins breathing rapidly, shifting in a misguided effort to alleviate the pain.

 

“Hold bloody still!” Jyn orders, but to no avail. The woman’s panicking.

 

Jyn tries to send her fingers searching in the wound—cringing at the thought that they are not sterilized, but she figures it’s better to stop the bleeding now and deal with infection later, than let the patient bleed out—but she’s moving too much. “Bloody stop!” she commands, wincing at her word choice.

 

Then, suddenly, there’s a presence beside her and someone throws their weight across the patient’s torso, hands clamping down on the woman’s upper arm, ceasing her movement.

 

Seizing the moment, Jyn desperately prods the gaping gash, grasping for the nicked artery. _There!_ Her fingers close around the small tear and pinch. Immediately, the flow of blood stops.

 

It’s only then that she realizes the woman is screaming. Absolutely screaming. At the top of her lungs, her haunting cries echoing throughout the ship. Moments later, the person who came to aid her—who currently holds the patient’s arm and body down—slams her elbow into the woman’s temple and all goes quiet as she is knocked unconscious.

 

Jyn meets eyes with the person who came to assist her. She’s another civilian from Andelm IV, Jyn thinks, given her clothing and the fact that Jyn doesn’t recognize her. When Jyn’s gaze travels to the woman’s face, she sees her blue eyes have a steely calm to them, but with an undercurrent of grief and rage. Given the circumstances, Jyn’s fairly confident that the rage is directed at the Empire, not at Jyn herself.

 

Her assessment seems confirmed when the woman offers her a small shrug and the ghost of a smile. “I figured she’d prefer a headache later than the excruciating pain she’s experiencing right now,” she offers by way of explanation. “Plus,” she adds, the smile slipping from her face, “no one needed to listen to that after what we’ve gone through.”

 

Jyn nods, appreciating the woman’s candor and quick thinking. A flash of red on the woman’s sleeve catches her attention. “Are you injured?” Jyn asks, eyeing the bloodstain.

 

The blue-eyed woman glances down at her own arm and starts in surprise. “Oh, quite honestly I’d forgotten about that. Damn blasters. They do pack a punch.” She shakes her head. “It’s nothing but a scratch. I can wait,” she assures Jyn, eyeing the carnage all around them.

 

“Be sure to get it looked at as soon as you can. Blaster burns have a nasty habit of getting infected,” Jyn warns her, before a commotion catches her attention and she glances to the doorway, where she sees two people hurrying through, stretcher in hand.

 

“No medics?” Jyn demands.

 

“They’re all busy!” one of the stretcher-bearers explains, tone frazzled.

 

Their response doesn’t surprise Jyn. _How could they NOT be busy with so many people to look after?_

 

While they shift the patient onto the stretcher, Jyn keeps her fingers firmly clamped on the artery. It’s only when the stretcher-bearers prepare to lift the stretcher and leave that everyone realizes the situation. The patient’s artery needs to remain clamped, but the two rebels can’t both carry the stretcher and keep the artery closed, and Jyn can’t leave; there’s too much still to do here.

 

“I’ll do it,” the blue-eyed woman who’d come to Jyn’s aid declares. “I can see you’re needed here,” she nods at Jyn, “and I might as well make myself as useful as I can. It’s the least I can do after…” she trails off for a moment, the first crack in her otherwise cool and collected exterior, before she continues, “it’s the least I can do after what you’ve done for us.”

 

They switch positions swiftly, but even so, a small amount of blood shoots out in the brief moment between the exchange of hands. Then the trio carefully makes their way out of the ship, leaving Jyn amidst a room with blood covered walls and a floor littered with stains, all evidence of the price payed by those who dare to stand up to the Empire. But without a doubt, Jyn knows it’s worth it.

 

Turning her back to the door, she makes her way farther into the ship, searching for more people who need her help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to aewgliriel for reminding me of the Falcon’s smuggling compartments! How could I forget them?
> 
> And yeah, I’ve done some iffy things here... Baze and Chirrut probably should have noticed that Cassian is absolutely not okay—really, it’s kind of a disservice to them, me making them oblivious to it, or at least, not as aware of it as they perhaps should be—but it’s for plot reasons and a really important scene between Jyn and Cassian so… But also, Cassian is very good at hiding things—it’s literally his job—so I choose to believe that in this case, he’s just that good. Until next time!


	12. Chapter 12

As Jyn slowly continues to make her way through the people strewn about the _Falcon,_ person by person, the floor space gradually clears. With each person she meets who is _not_ someone she’s familiar with, she’s both grateful and increasingly worried.

 

When she sends out what feels like the hundredth person, she hears a call from behind her.

  
  
“Erso!”

 

Turning, she sees Han Solo standing in the doorway. His usual suave, confident air and smirk are gone, replaced by a look of grim fatigue with just a _hint_ of satisfaction, an expression that Jyn imagines mirrors her own. His normally white shirt is stained and smudged, which is not entirely unusual—given his ship’s tendency to require extensive maintenance—but the nature of the stains are red, not the usual black from smeared oil and various other ship fluids. She wonders if he’s injured, or if the blood is someone else’s. Given how easily he appears to move, she surmises the latter.

 

Meeting her gaze, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the cockpit, one of the few places she hasn’t gotten to yet, too occupied with the people in the halls and living quarters. “Andor’s in there, in case you wanted to know. I thought you probably hadn’t seen him,” he informs her, trying to keep his voice gruff in order to hide the kindness and concern that’s creeping in, things that do not suit his image of a tough ex-smuggler. He’s only moderately successful, but Jyn doesn’t call him out on it.

 

At his words, her heart immediately feels lighter, the fatigue that had set deep in her bones is now gone. _Thank the Force._ She’s been so afraid that he hadn’t made it, that he’d pulled some stupid sacrificial act that had gotten himself killed. His selflessness is one of the many reasons she loves him, but she knows it’s also what puts him in the most danger.

 

Solo’s eyes shutter halfway and he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly uncharacteristically unsure, then continues, “It wasn’t pretty. Yeah we got a hell of a lot of people out, including some that wouldn’t have made it if Andor, Ȋmwe and Malbus weren’t so damn stubborn… but it wasn’t pretty,” he repeats.

 

She can hear what he leaves unspoken: _it was bad. We didn’t get everyone. There will be scars._ Perhaps not as bad as Scarif, but perhaps not dissimilar. The tapestry of wounds and fear she’s encountered since entering the _Falcon_ told her that already, but she does not say it aloud, understanding that Solo is merely processing the events. 

 

She clears her throat and asks instead, “And Baze and Chirrut, are they…?”

 

“Oh,” he frowns in confusion. “You haven’t seen them yet? They’re around here somewhere, though I think they’ve been helping pull people out of the freight area, I guess that’s why you haven’t crossed paths.”

 

And the rest of her worry vanishes. For years she’d done everything possible to keep everyone out. To keep everyone at arms-length and to stand on her own. Relying on others had been a weakness. In fact, a year ago she would have laughed if someone told her that soon she would have not only one friend whom she couldn’t live without, but five. But that’s exactly what happened. And the number continues to grow. It’s hard to imagine how bleak her life was before K2 and Team Bravo plucked her from the prison camp on Wobani. So lonely and desolate. At the time, it suited her just fine. But now, she couldn’t imagine her life without the two former guardians watching out for Bodhi, K2, Cassian and her. Her world would be so much darker without the two’s playful bickering and habit of constantly mystifying her with their knowledge and strength.

 

“Anyway,” Solo mutters awkwardly, “I thought you’d want to know.” And then he’s gone.

 

Jyn finishes clearing the living quarters and hallways, leaving no person without care, before finally, finally she makes her way to the cockpit.

 

The ship is almost entirely empty now. There’s no one in the hallway leading to the cockpit, and at first she thinks no one is in the cockpit itself. The chairs are empty and stepping through the doorway into the room doesn’t immediately reveal anyone. That is, until she looks down and to the right, and her eyes at last fall on Cassian.

 

He sits only a few feet away, leaning against the wall, apparently unaware of her presence. His legs splay out in front of him and his hands rest limply in his lap. Head bowed, he stares at them.

 

“Cassian?” she calls quietly.

 

His head rises and looks up to meet her gaze, his face breaking into a terribly tired, but beautiful smile. “I kept my promise.”

 

She returns his smile with one of her own, knees almost buckling in relief, grateful that yes, he’d made it back to her. That after all of the carnage she’d just waded through, after all the waiting and not knowing if he was still alive, he’s here now. He’s home.

 

But even as the relief courses through her, she frowns mentally; she doesn’t like the look of him. His skin is entirely too pale for her taste; the usual color and warmth in his face and eyes appear drained away by a large gash visible on his right shoulder. _Though it doesn’t seem like it would be enough to cause that much blood loss,_ she worries. But then again, despite what she just spent the last half hour doing, she’s not a medic. And her worry eases when she takes a closer look and sees that the gash has stopped bleeding for the moment, and therefore he’s not in imminent danger. She also notices something off with his left shoulder, and it takes her a moment to realize that its abnormal misshapen form indicates a dislocation. Other than that, physically he appears fine. No matter how much she wants to, if she were to assess him as she had every other patient thus far, she would not send him to med bay for critical care.

 

Assessment complete, she crouches down in front of him, but before she can say anything, a frown crosses his face and a look of urgency lights his eyes. “Jyn, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

 

She panics for a moment, thinking he must be worse than she thought if he’s confused and delusional enough to think that _she_ is the injured one, but then she remembers the woman’s arterial blood spraying across her face and body. Now that she thinks about it, she can feel it sticking to her.

 

He shifts, clearly trying to reach out to touch her face, to reassure himself that she’s alright, but when his arms twitch he can’t suppress a grimace. Immediately, she reaches out and places a hand over his. “Don’t,” she orders, sounding a little more cross than she’d intended. She’s not angry at him; she’s furious that the Empire deemed the people of Andelm IV insignificant and targeted them out of sheer malice. And because Cassian is Cassian and he doesn’t leave innocent people in harms-way if he can help it, that put him in the path of destruction. So no, she is not mad at _him_ , but the rage burning within her bleeds out into her voice no matter how hard she tries to stop it. Worried he’ll take it the wrong way—because in the past she _has_ expressed her (justifiable) anger at him when he’s been hurt, and that’s _not_ how she feels this time—she switches her grip so that she clasps his hand and softens her voice. “Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself.”

 

With the hand that is not holding Cassian’s, she reaches up and wipes her sleeve across her face. It probably only smears the blood more and makes it look worse than before, but her assurance of, “It’s not mine,” clears Cassian’s frown.

 

“Good,” he rasps, tension leaving his body.

 

He doesn’t appear to be in critical condition— _thank the Force,_ she whispers silently—and he gives no indication that he’s anxious to go anywhere, which is fortunate since it will be some time before any medical personnel can see him. The halls of Echo Base reverberate with noise and energy as rebels charge in every direction in order to organize and aid people. The hum and buzz from the hundreds of civilians that had been on the ship is gone now, replaced with a comforting quiet. She decides waiting here is as good a place as any.

 

Decision made, she slides to the wall and sits next to him, still holding his right hand. Her personal experience with dislocated joints tells her that any movement—no matter how slight—is excruciating, therefore she avoids touching his left arm. Though his right shoulder is not uninjured, he makes no move to pull his hand from hers and instead tightens his grip.

 

He’s first to break the silence. “I’m sorry.”

 

Jyn raises an eyebrow. “Cassian, what in the galaxy could you possibly be sorry for right now? And if you say, ‘for worrying you,’ then I am going to punch you, injuries be damned. This is our job; there are always going to be missions or crises that cause us to worry for each other.”

 

He gives her a wry smile, glancing at her sidelong, and doesn’t say anything for a minute, leading Jyn to believe that that was _exactly_ what he’d been about to apologize for— _bloody idiot,_ she grumbles good naturedly.

 

But then he continues. Drawing in a breath, he starts, “When we got to Andelm IV, most everyone was congregated in the base—which was nothing more than a single warehouse the civilians gave us to use—but there was a group that got trapped across town. And of course, Chirrut and Baze had gone to get them, but hadn’t returned. I ran to try to help them, but they ended up saving me. Pulled me out of the path of a crashing TIE Fighter.” Cassian pauses and chuckles halfheartedly, shaking his head ruefully.

 

Jyn can’t figure out if he’s just rambling and telling her what happened, or if he is going somewhere and this is tied to his earlier apology, but she lets him talk without interruption.

 

“There was a group of ten civilians that we had to get back to the base,” he continues quietly. “I thought most of them could make it—unless of course they got hit by stray fire or a downed ship—except for one. The odds were stacked against her. She knew it. I knew it. Her partner knew it. We tried anyway… but the odds won and she got hit by a blaster bolt from ground troops.” He leans his head back against the wall. “They landed _ground_ troops in a town they were about to bomb, for the Force knows what reason,” he murmurs, marveling at the senselessness of it.

 

He stops there for a long moment, catching his breath, gathering his wits. “She died quickly,” he told her, voice soft, “but I’d be lying if I said she didn’t suffer. She’d been suffering for a long time.”

 

Jyn squeezes his hand in sympathy, reminding him that she’s here. She’ll always be here for him.

 

“I watched a couple who were each other’s _worlds_ get ripped apart,” he whispers hoarsely. “I watched a partnership that was so strong I could see their love and devotion within _seconds_ , die. Snuffed out, just like that. Destroyed by the Empire.”

 

Jyn swallows hard, fear rising in her. Fear that this is the moment he’s been building towards for the past two months, ever since Ord Mantell. That this is when he’ll sever all ties between them so that neither of them can hurt each other with their loss. So that _he_ won’t be hurt if he loses her to the Empire. She thinks that now’s the time that he’s finally going to walk away from her and never come back, as so many others in her life have. That he’ll leave her behind as he never has before. He’s _always_ come back. On Jedha, on Eadu, on Yavin 4, on Scarif, on Ord Mantell, and so many other times in between. He’d even come back from Andelm IV, but what was the point if he turns his back on her now?

 

He turns to look at her and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

 

Her heart plummets and she opens her mouth to say something, anything to knock some sense into him, but she stops when she finally meets his gaze and registers what she’s seeing. His eyes are not withdrawn or shuttered as she’d expected them to be. There are no walls up right now; he’s letting everything through. His love, his concern, his caring, he’s laying it bear for her to see as he never has before, even in the months just after Scarif. He’d always held himself back ever so slightly. But not now. Now he holds nothing as he offers it all to her.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “for fraying _our_ partnership and nearly severing it while we both still live, while we have the chance to be together. I’ve been pulling away since I was reminded so forcefully that I could lose you, that you could lose me, that I might again feel that agonizing desolation that is loss… all because of the Empire. But it’s not the Empire who’s been hurting us these past two months, it’s been me. _I’ve_ been hurting you.”

 

He squeezes her hand. There’s not much strength to his grip, but enough.

 

“Yes, just as you said, our occupations are dangerous,” he agrees. “There’s always the threat of death hanging over our heads, the risk is _always_ present, and the thought of you getting ripped away, of either of us leaving the other and dying…” he trails off, then clears his throat determinedly. “But you make my _living_ worthwhile. You sit with me in my shadows, you stay with me in the darkness, you follow me to the brink and don’t let go. I don’t know what I’ve done in my life to deserve you, and I know I’m not the same person I was before I met you. Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want to go back to the person I was. Maybe,” he hesitates, “maybe I will lose you tomorrow—though I pray to the Force that I won’t—but at some point… at some point losing you is a certainty because immortality doesn’t exist for people like you and me… but I don’t want to lose the time I have with you while we are both still here. Losing that would be all on me and that would be my greatest regret,” he finishes solemnly, eyes fixed on hers. “So for whatever it’s worth… I’m yours. All that I am… the good and the bad, I give to you, if you’ll still have me.”

 

Jyn has no words to respond. She’s filled with soul-deep relief that her fear these last months as they grew apart was for naught, and overwhelming love for the imperfect person sitting beside her; it’s his imperfections that make him perfect to her.

 

Instead of replying with words, she leans towards him—careful of his shoulder. When he, too, leans forward, she rests her forehead against his, eyes closed. They sit like that for several moments, soaking in each other’s presence and love, taking comfort in their unspoken promise that they will always, _always,_ be there for each other.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! They are reunited! Cassian is not out of the woods yet, but I gave him this brief respite to give him and Jyn this much deserved and much needed moment. Unfortunately it will cost him...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the beginning of the fallout...
> 
> Just a heads up, there's some mild descriptions of injury in this chapter. Not as much as in previous chapters, but some.

Eventually, Jyn opens her eyes and smiles at Cassian, though his eyes remain closed. “How about we see if we can get you to someone who can look at those shoulders? It’s been a little while since the first wave hit med bay, maybe things have quieted down enough that there won’t be hours to wait.” It’s unlikely—it’s really only been a few minutes since things settled down in the hangar, though it feels longer—but she remains hopeful.

 

The only problem is, Cassian doesn’t answer.

 

She frowns and starts to pull away, but when Cassian starts to slump towards her as she withdraws her support, she freezes. “Cassian?”

 

She raises a hand and places it against his forehead, using it to replace her own forehead in order to prop him up as she leans back to get a better look at him.

 

All of the muscles in his face are slack. In fact, there’s not a hint of tension in his entire body, despite the pain he’s no doubt experiencing.

 

She pushes him back so that the wall fully supports him and withdraws her hand from his forehead to gently tap his cheek. “Now is _not_ the time to sleep,” she scolds. Though he has every right to be exhausted—in fact _she_ was beginning to feel sleepy moments ago, until Cassian’s lack of response sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her—alarm bells go off in her head; this is not an exhausted sleep.

 

Hurriedly, she shifts positions so that she crouches facing him, rather than sit shoulder to shoulder. At this angle, she can see much more clearly that his skin—which was poorly colored to begin with—is now nearly ashen. She feels for the pulse in his neck and is alarmed by how weak and rapid it is, almost as if…

 

 _Blood,_ her stunned brain supplies. _He’s losing blood. And a LOT of it. But where? It’s not his shoulder. And why didn’t he say anything?!_ It wouldn’t be unlike Cassian to conceal an injury—Scarif flashes in front of her eyes and is gone—but it didn’t make sense that he’d hide it while holding nothing else back and baring his soul to her.

 

Frantically, she runs her hands up and down his legs, cursing his dark clothing which conceals bloodstains, searching for something she’d missed. It’s when her hands shift to his torso that she finds it. She closes her eyes and can’t prevent a small shudder.

 

“When the hell were you going to tell me?” she growls, carefully moving his right hand from his lap and opening his jacket.

 

The cloth moves aside to reveal what at first looks to be a very small, innocuous wound on the right half of his torso, about mid-rib area. But closer inspection reveals what her hands had felt: the light glints off of a small piece of metal protruding ever so slightly from his skin. Exploring his back for the exit wound forces her to reorient her thinking. The back isn’t the exit wound, but the _entry_ , because the wound there is larger. As for the blood, there’s surprisingly little.

 

 _Which means internal bleeding. Lovely._ Internal bleeding is _not_ the kind of bleeding that she can control through applying pressure. In fact, there’s absolutely nothing she can do, which means he needs to get operated on, _now._ There’s no denying that Cassian’s situation has gone from stable to critical in a matter of seconds. In fact, it was never stable to begin with.

 

“You idiot!” she hisses, whether at herself or at the man she loves, she’s not sure—perhaps both—then she rises to her feet and rushes out of the cockpit. The quiet and solitude that she’d moments ago appreciated, now makes her scream, because there’s _no one_. No one’s left on the ship and Cassian became unresponsive inside of two minutes, which terrifies her. Either adrenaline had been flooding his system up until that point, or his injury had worsened in the last few minutes. He hadn’t been moving much, but maybe… maybe it was enough that something had gotten nicked.

 

“Hello?!” she yells, searching for someone, anyone.

 

“Jyn?” a familiar voice queries.

 

She whirls to find its owner. “K2! What are you doing here?”

 

“Well,” the droid starts, annoyance clear in his voice, “originally I was keeping my distance as you suggested, but I ran into Baze and he recommended I come here to assist Cassian, though I’ve half a mind to scold him for leaving me behind.”

 

 _Thank the Force for Baze._ “Forget about the scolding. He needs your help!” She snatches a stretcher from the wall and takes off at a sprint for the _Falcon_.

 

K2 lumbers along behind her, calling, “Wait just a minute, why did you grab a stretcher?” Pause. “Oh. He’s gone and gotten himself injured again, hasn’t he?”

 

Jyn knows she doesn’t imagine the hint of concern in the droid’s voice, but she doesn’t bother replying—he’ll see for himself, soon enough—as she disappears up the ship’s ramp and back to the cockpit, where she puts the stretcher on the floor. But then the reality of the situation hits her. “Dammit! How in the hell are you supposed to lie on a stretcher?!” she yells at Cassian in frustration, who gives no indication he hears.

 

It’s clear to see that he can’t lie on his back or stomach, as that would risk pressing the metal farther into his body, and lying on his left side would badly damage his already dislocated shoulder, while lying on his right raises the risk of jostling the piece of metal. “You just had to make it bloody difficult, didn’t you!”

 

She almost punches the wall of the ship—which would not have ended well for her hand—as the options rapidly diminish, but stops when she hears, “I could carry him.”

 

She looks at the droid, who’d caught up to her quickly and now looms over her, though his eyes remain fixed on Cassian’s form.

 

“It’s probably not ideal; he’ll shift around some,” K2 admits. “But as you just realized, there’s probably _no_ ideal way to transport him given his injuries. Using my mechanical system instead of muscles, I’ll be able to hold my arms mostly still, and I can walk more smoothly than non-droid lifeforms,” he explains rapidly. “While my proposal is also less than ideal, it has a higher probability of success than the stretcher.” He pauses, still only looking at Cassian. “I can tell you the exact statistics if you like, but I imagine you probably don’t want to hear it.”

 

She doesn’t. Hesitating a moment, she considers K2’s idea, and immediately comes to the conclusion that he’s probably right. “Are you sure?”

 

K2’s gaze finally shifts from his partner’s face to hers, and he states quietly, “I’ve done it before.”

 

There are nine years of stories behind that declaration. Nine years of a partnership that—against all odds—grew into a friendship. Nine years of missions and life-or-death situations of which Jyn knows very little. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she makes a mental note to ask K2 about all of that history, hoping the droid will tell her what Cassian hasn’t. Although, now that Cassian’s decided to open up to her, perhaps he’s finally ready to let her into his past. It will necessitate her telling him about her own previous lives—fair’s fair—but it will be worth it.

 

Reigning in her thoughts, she nods. “Do it.”

 

K2 bends down and carefully slips one arm under Cassian’s knees, while his other hand goes to the middle of Cassian’s upper back, careful to stay as far from the piece of metal as possible. Then, he gently pulls the man to his metal torso and straightens.

 

Cassian looks so small in the seven-foot-tall droid’s arms. K2 holds him effortlessly and with such care and concern, that Jyn finds herself needing to look away.

 

“Lead on, Jyn.”

 

They move through the base towards med bay at a rapid jog. Or rather, Jyn jogs while K2 does a bizarre walk that is just as fast, but much smoother. When they burst through the doors of med bay, it’s not as chaotic as Jyn feared it would be. However, that means that when a blood-spattered rebel with a wild look in her eye and a hulking black Imperial droid enter the space, all eyes turn to them. Which is the exact moment Jyn realizes that, 1), this—what appears to be an enemy droid breaking into med bay while carrying a badly injured rebel officer—is probably a rather alarming sight for the civilians, and 2), this is exactly what she’d been trying to avoid when she sent K2 away before the _Falcon_ arrived.

 

_Well, priorities changed._

 

She thanks the Force that none of the civilians have weapons or are healthy enough to do anything but stare, otherwise K2 might have already been blasted to smithereens, and Cassian along with him. But in order to head off the screams she sees rising in peoples’ throats, she throws up her hands and shouts, “Nobody panic! He looks Imperial but he’s on our side! Now I need a cot for Captain Andor!”

 

As a medic scurries forward and directs them towards a cot in the far corner, her words make her recall that she’d done something similar on Jedha, when Baze aimed at K2. It’s the second time in less than an hour that something has reminded her of a memory on Jedha, memories that K2 no longer has. What it means, she has no idea. Perhaps it just shows that she and the droid have finally re-established their friendship. This time, on better footing.

 

K2 eases Cassian down onto the bed, but keeps him in a sitting position and maintains his hand on the rebel’s upper back in order to prevent him from lying back and injuring himself further.

 

Jyn whirls on the medic, whom she recognizes. She has a vague memory that she perhaps doesn’t like him, but she can’t remember his name. Instead, she forgoes a name and just orders, “I need someone capable of advanced surgery right this minute!”

 

The medic frowns peevishly. “Look, even though Head Medic Yevez put you in charge back in the hangar, you’re not a medic and you’re not in charge in here. And in case you didn’t notice, we’re absolutely swamped right now, what with all of the people we just rescued—”

 

_Yup, I don’t like him._

 

“—so just cool it. If he’s not actively bleeding out—which it’s obvious he’s not, given the lack of blood,” the man declares arrogantly, “then he’ll have to wait, no matter how much everyone else thinks he’s a hotshot.”

 

And Jyn explodes. Call her any sort of name, bad mouth her to her face or behind her back, she’d just shrug it off. But go after the few friends she has, go after _Cassian_ when he could very well be _dying,_ and there will be hell to pay. “Are you kriffing blind?!” she roars. “He _is_ actively bleeding out, you good for nothing piece of bantha fodder! Aren’t you a trained medic?! Just because you don’t see blood spurting from a wound doesn’t mean it isn’t bleeding! There’s this little thing called _internal_ bleeding!”

 

The medic opens his mouth, probably to disagree with some sort of retort if his angry face is anything to go by, but Jyn whips her hand forward and grabs the man’s hair, yanking his head down and forcing him to look at Cassian’s back. “See that?!” she demands. “Not only is that piece of metal decidedly _not_ supposed to be there, it is also causing who knows what kind of damage, but if anyone should know it’s you! The medic! I am _not_ a trained medic—as you so helpfully observed,” she bites out, practically growling in the man’s face, “but even _I_ know it’s bad!

 

“And yes, I know there are a lot of people here that need help, but ‘ _we’_ didn’t rescue them, as you so boldly declared,” she snarls angrily, “ _Captain Andor_ , Han Solo and Chewbacca did! In fact, the people out there,” she gestures at the rest of the room, “wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the man in front of you! So take your arrogant, pompous ass and run find Yevez and let _him_ decide where Cassian ranks on the critical list. I guarantee you he’ll find Cassian ranks quite high, and he’ll light into you twice as hard as I did for causing such a delay in treating not only his best friend, but one of the Alliance’s formidable assets!”

 

She lets the medic go, shoving him away. He gives her a dirty look, before vanishing in a direction she hopes will take him to Yevez.

 

“I think it’d be best if I follow him to make sure he complies with your, ah, _request,_ ” K2 comments tactfully.

 

Jyn lets out an explosive breath—trying to rid herself of her anger along with it—and nods, taking K2’s place as the droid departs.

 

It’s then, standing sideways to Cassian and supporting him, that she sees his eyes are open, though his gaze is vacant. She inhales sharply. “Cassian? Are you with me?” _Please be with me_.

 

He blinks and lifts his head slightly, so it’s no longer resting on his chest, then murmurs in starts and stops, “Remind me… never to make you… angry. And before… you yell at-t me… I promise… had… no idea.”

 

Jyn has to viciously fight back the relief that desperately wants to course through her now that he’s awake. Though a part of her cries, _he’s awake! He’ll be all right!_ she knows all too well that with a wound like his, there are no guarantees. Shaking her head, she tells him, “Too late. You’ve already made me angry, and I can still yell at you for being a big idiot and not realizing you’d been _impaled_ , Cassian. I just won’t yell at you for not telling me.”

 

He sighs. “Fair enough.” A pause, then his eyes widen in surprise, finally registering her words. “Impaled?” Apparently he’d been telling the truth and only now knew he was more injured than he thought due to his current location in med bay, but didn’t know the exact nature of his injury.

 

“Yes. Impaled, you big dummy. How did you manage to miss the fact that you had a metal rod pierce your torso?” she demands.

  
“Huh, so that’s what the pinch was…” he muses. “Guess I h-had other… things on my mind,” he admits quietly, then falls silent. Or rather, he stops talking; he’s far from silent. Every breath rattles through his chest as he strains to pull in air, his eyes fluttering as he fights to keep them open, as if the very action of breathing is enough to suck his energy away.

 

“Cassian,” she calls, “please stay awake! We’re a partnership, remember? You can’t quit on me now, not after finally opening up with the promise that you’ll stop pulling away, that there will be no more barriers between us!” she pleads. _You can’t leave me, not now! There are so many questions I want to ask you, so much time I want to spend with you, so many place I want to take you._

But he’s too far away from her already. Pulled by the inexorable flow of blood that pools in unseen cavities within him, he gives no reply. His back jerks slightly beneath her hand and he gives a soft sound, almost like a cough, and that’s when she sees the blood leaking from his mout. The small, innocent bead slides sluggishly from the corner of his lips and down, down until it falls silently and disappears into the dark material of his jacket.

 

It’s gone from her sight now, but its trail remains, as does its significance. Up until now, she’s managed to avoid panicking. Even when she first discovered his injury in the _Falcon,_ she’d remained _mostly_ clear-headed. But now, now she wants to scream because they’re in a damn _medical facility_ and he’s still deteriorating and _no one_ is helping them! They’re not even light years away this time, stranded on a beach with an impending blast wave bearing down upon them, or huddled in the back of a ship as it rattles through space towards Yavin, slowly, ever so slowly.

 

Cassian’s eyes slip shut and Jyn panics.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it was going to cost him...  
> Full disclaimer, I am not a medical professional. I do some questionable things, I acknowledge. The whole impalement thing in particular, and moving Cassian, but I know stories of incidents like it happening in the real world--someone getting impaled and not realizing it due to adrenaline or other reasons, continuing to move around/do things, taking awhile to get treated, etc etc--so I am running with it. Hope it's bearable :)


End file.
